


Lanius

by Trystero



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackmail, Captivity, Cock Tease, Double Penetration, Drug Addiction, F/M, Femdom, Male Rivalry, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Romantic Lanius, Sex Pollen, Size Kink, Slavery, Surprise Genital Piercing, Threesome - F/M/M, Very Evil Karma Vulpes, Voice Kink, sexual jealousy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 71,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trystero/pseuds/Trystero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories of mixed lengths and styles, featuring the mighty Legate Lanius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bear Baiting

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these works were written for the falloutkinkmeme - so expect kinkiness, and lots of it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f!Courier captures Lanius as a pet

After the battle, the Courier couldn’t let Lanius go, but she couldn’t kill him either. It would have been like killing a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He was too majestic, too grand in scale, too magnificent a wild beast to be put down like a mangy dog. It felt petty to execute him simply for doing what wild beasts naturally do; rampage, maim, claim territory, and hurl themselves at anyone who threatens the leader of their pack.

Legatus Lanius had the strength of a rhino, the agility of a panther. He was built to fight and fuck. The Courier hadn’t yet seen him fucking, but she’d sure as hell seen him fighting, and it was a sight to behold. He fought with the lethal grace and innate bloodthirst of a lion.

No, she couldn’t just kill him, though once caught, he wanted her to, and she wouldn’t permit him to kill himself either.

Instead, she took him home, chained at hand, neck and foot, a trophy of war. Paraded him through the streets of Freeside then Vegas, to cheering crowds.

Inside the sanctum of her casino, she took him to her suite, and set him to one side while she and her companions washed the blood and filth of battle off themselves, then drank and ate their fill. Chained to the wall in her bedroom, he could do nothing but wait.

Eventually she appeared, slightly drunk, and looked him over. She unhooked him from the wall and led him to the bathroom, stripped his cladding off and put him under the shower, where he gulped down water, and kept him there until the sweat, dirt and blood ran down the drain and he was left bare.

Under the watchful lens of her personal securitron, she led him back to her room, and re-secured him to the wall.

He was strangely docile, but she suspected he was just waiting his chance. The spirit of a creature like this could not be broken so easily. He was watching, and waiting. If he got the chance, he would kill her, or himself, or both.

To be trapped by a hunter was a painful enough experience for a wild animal. But to be kept as a pet was an excruciating humiliation.

Naked and still wet from the cleansing, he was an eye-catching sight, all seven feet of bulging muscle and seething frustration.

The Courier came close, and ghosted her hand over the black hair on his chest.  
“What am I going to do with you,” she mused. Looking up into his eyes, she saw murder, and instinctively withdrew her hand. This beast, it was not safe to fondle.

She adjusted his chains so he could slide down to lie on the floor if he chose to, and prepared to go to bed herself, exhausted from the battle and the arduous journey home. He stayed standing.

Taking her jacket off, the Courier noticed Lanius watching her. She took her socks off. He still watched. She decided to have some fun baiting the bear. She began undressing slowly and seductively like she was doing a private show at the Gomorrah. Her hands glided down over her breasts and pushed them up to make deep cleavage for him. He watched intently, eyes still hatefilled.

She pulled her shirt up and gave him a peek-a-boo view of a nipple. That got a reaction – his long, heavy penis started to levitate. She faced away from him and bent at the hip to remove her pants, perking her rear up at him. Lanius started breathing raggedly, his erection growing fuller and stiffer moment by moment.

“You like this, big fella?” the Courier teased. “And, oh my, you ARE a big fella,” she said, eyes on the solid baton of flesh and blood pointing at her.

She took a step towards him but he lunged at her and she stepped quickly back out of range. He lunged again, trying to break the chains, wild-eyed and bucking like a feral stallion.

The Courier retreated to her bed. The chains were strong and secure, and the wall fitting would hold an elephant, so she was in no danger, but it was unnerving to watch him smash against his bonds trying to get at her. His hands clenched and unclenched, as though hallucinating that they were around her throat.

His hands. The more she looked at them, the more she became aroused herself. They were mammoth in size, and massively powerful. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be caressed by such hands. So much pleasure, he could give her, if he used them to hold her, lift her, penetrate her.

She lay back on her pillows, naked as he was, and, keeping her eyes on him to see his reaction, spread her legs for him to look between. He did, and abruptly stopped his thrashing. With one finger she drew a path down her belly, to point at her clit, running a circle around it before continuing down to slowly plunge into her depths.

Lanius’ monstrous erection twitched, and grew even larger.

Another finger joined the first, and then her other hand joined the action, drawing moisture out to rub on her sensitive nub, swollen with excitement now.

As she masturbated in front of him, he spoke at last, in a gravelly voice soaked with derision.  
“You are a whore.”  
“Really? I don’t see you fucking me,” the Courier mocked. “But you do want to.”  
“I would tear you apart. I would rip you open and fuck your still-beating heart. I would -”  
“Oh shut up.” The Courier closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations between her legs. She moaned softly as orgasm overtook her. Lanius stayed silent, and the Courier didn’t open her eyes again. She rolled over onto her side, and went to sleep.

That first night set a pattern that was to repeat every night. The Courier would tease and entice Lanius until he was painfully hard. Then she would pleasure herself, just out of his reach, enjoying the fury and frustration in his expression.

As days went by, the fury grew less, but the frustration grew worse. He begged her, one night, to release him. She knew better. They grew increasingly obsessed by each other. She couldn’t wait to get home each evening, to be in close proximity to her chained beast. She longed to stroke and caress him, and for him to do the same to her.

Her doctor friend, Arcade, half-jokingly suggested lobotomizing him, to make him less dangerous. She found that a revolting idea. Without his personality, fury and all, he would not be him. That was no better than executing him. Worse, probably.  
“I couldn’t deprive a man of his dignity in that way,” she told Arcade.  
Arcade scoffed. “And you’re not depriving him of his dignity now?”  
“I am, that’s true,” she admitted. And Arcade didn’t know the half of it.

The guilt of what she was doing to the once-proud beast set in that day, and it wouldn’t leave. It got worse, until very soon she couldn’t do it anymore. And she couldn’t keep him in chains anymore.

At 4am one morning, late enough that the drunkards had fallen unconscious, early enough that the traders hadn’t started setting up yet, she took Lanius out of the casino and far away from the city.

She gave him his bundle of clothes back, and a supply of water and food to last a few days. His chains, she replaced with ropes, that he could fray against the rocks and eventually break free from. Enough time to give herself a safe headstart on heading back to the city.

It was hard to know what to say. Goodbye? Thanks? Sorry?  
In the end she said nothing, just nodded an acknowledgement, and walked away.

Each time she turned to look back, he was just standing there in the dawn light, watching her go. Probably fraying the rope, behind his back.

She thought about going back to him. Yeah, right. Suicide. She was no match for him, hand to hand.

When she got back to her room, his metal armour was still lying on her bedroom floor. She touched it. It still held an aura of power, of the man himself. She took a cloth to it and polished it till it gleamed, then put it on display on top of her cabinets. More sensible, to keep the exoskeleton as a trophy, than to keep the beast himself.

That night, she dreamed of his hands, beautiful and brutal. They pulled the bedcovers down. They ran over her skin, touching and cupping her breasts. The thumbs and forefingers gently pinched her nipples to stiffness. The dream hands ran further down, over her belly and around her waist, further down to stroke her thighs, then move them apart.

The strong hands pushed her legs as far apart as they would go, leaving her wide open. The long, thick fingers began to spread her wetness, smoothing it all over her opening, then pressing in and exploring her interior surfaces, caressing her in long strokes.  
“Lanius,” she whispered, lost in passion.  
“Courier,” a deep voice responded.  
Her eyes popped open.  
“Shh,” he said, and sealed her mouth with a kiss.


	2. A Dirty Great Brute With a Dirty Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lanius enslaves Veronica Santangelo. Strange desires find a meeting point.

Legatus Lanius was a dirty great brute with a dirty little secret.

He liked being spanked.

And he liked taking it up the ass.

Veronica Santangelo was a small-framed woman with a powerful fist and a grudge to match.

She didn’t like being a slave.

And she didn’t like wearing rags.

When Lanius gifted his sullen slave a beautiful red-and-black silky dress as a token of hoped-for future appreciation, Veronica was genuinely surprised.

When he gave her a whip, without specifying how it was to be used, Veronica looked at her master with new eyes, and the realisation came to her that this could be a give-and-take relationship after all.

She gave him furious whippings, while he bit down on leather.

He took her oiled fist in his ass.

He gave her pretty dresses.

She took his tongue inside her cunt, always riding his face, never on her back.

He gave her books that he found in raided settlements, and as the better reader, she took to reading them to him every night, after his thrashing.

Everyone heard the nightly sound of the whip.

Everyone knew that she was his slave.

Only Lanius and Veronica knew that he was hers.


	3. Penance and Penetrability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F!Courier sinks into drug-addicted sex slavery to the Legion.  
> Legatus Lanius is her lover and official owner, but the bastard Vulpes gains a secret hold on her.  
> Warning - pretty debauched in places. Also very abrupt ending - apologies. Might fix it one day.

Ah, regret. 

Whoever said “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” hadn’t really thought it through. The Courier, after one too many disputes with NCR commanders, and maybe one too many sucks of Jet, had petulantly decided to give the NCR a run for their money by siding with the Legion.

And how she had lived to regret it.

She was tough, or so she liked to think, but she was also young, and no one is born wise. Wisdom and foresight are gained, over years, and she had notched up too few years to foresee and fully appreciate the consequences of her move.

So she had turned a blind eye to the deplorable condition of slaves at the Fort, and broken bread with Caesar, an educated man, not without charm, whose attention felt very flattering to the naive but ambitious Courier.

Matters were conducted in a surprisingly formal way at the Fort, everything done by protocols and hierarchies and unspoken laws. Caesar and his officers treated her very courteously at all times. On every visit she was made to feel like an honoured guest, and so easily fell under the mistaken impression that this would always be so.

When Caesar asked her if she would be interested in one of his men as a husband, naming no one in particular, she said maybe, possibly. She went away thinking about his officers, mentally entertaining each one in turn, unconsciously assuming that he had meant she could choose.

The battle for Hoover Dam came, and the Legion destroyed the NCR, by means of numbers, viciousness, cunning, and the Courier’s not insignificant help. She helped Cato Hostilius to assassinate President Kimball, provided armed and upgraded securitrons to the infantry, and even brought in an antique aerial bomber to carpetbomb the NCR troops from the skies.

The NCR high command, humiliated, gave the order to abandon all camps, and quit Arizona altogether.

The Legion marched into New Vegas as tremendous victors, facing no display of opposition from the city’s terrified inhabitants. Lanius and his prime battalion entered first, stationing themselves at every corner and doorway, then Caesar marched in with his praetorian guard, the Courier to his left, Lucius to his right, and Vulpes Inculta directly behind, his cold eyes darting this way and that, missing nothing.

The casinos were quickly cleared and transformed into barracks for the men. Caesar and his officers set up in the Ultra Luxe, and that night hosted a small victory party. The grand celebration would be held the following night, once they had rested.

Vulpes Inculta enquired politely if she would do him the great honour of showing him around inside the Lucky 38, and she felt she could not refuse the request, phrased as respectfully as it was.

After a cursory showing, she left him there and returned, exhausted, to the party, then to spend the night alone in her room in the Ultra Luxe. Caesar would not permit her to sleep in the Lucky 38, saying he wanted her closer.

During the night, there was an enormous explosion, muffled by the walls of the Ultra Luxe, but registering in the Courier’s mind nonetheless as a bomb dropped by a plane in her dream. When she awoke the next morning and went downstairs to the dining room, Vulpes Inculta was sitting at a table with his other Frumentarii, eating a hunk of freshly baked bread. He lowered it and bowed his head graciously as she looked at him. 

Wandering outside, the Courier began at last to apprehend the position she had put herself in. The Lucky 38 was blackened, its every window shattered and emitting tendrils of acrid smoke. A few securitrons scattered around were motionless, blank-screened and unresponsive.

As she stared, appalled, at the ruins of her fortress, two of Caesar’s praetorian guard came up behind her, gently but firmly gripped her arms, and walked her back inside, to seat her between Caesar and Lanius at the great table. Both men turned to regard her, and for the first time, she didn’t know where to look.

Vulpes Inculta met her eye for a second. His expression remained as cold and neutral as ever, but still, she had the impression he was smiling.

Caesar spoke to Lanius in Latin over her head, and Lanius replied in kind, still looking at her. Up so close his presence was overwhelming. He cupped her face in one huge paw and turned it to his. It felt as though electricity was coursing through his skin into hers. When he spoke again, his deep, powerful voice resonated throughout her body. Behind her, Caesar laughed at whatever it was Lanius had said. Not a kindly laugh.

The Courier kept herself still, but inside she wanted to run from the room and not stop till she caught up with the NCR and begged for forgiveness.

She was trapped, pinned by the horns of the bull she had been petting.

It is a mistake to think a wild thing loves you.

***

The Courier excused herself as soon as she could and retreated to her room.

All the rest of the day, she thought about how to play her dwindling hand.

She was banned from leaving the building without Caesar’s say-so, and even if she snuck out somehow, the whole city was crawling with Legionaries. Escape wasn’t presently an option. Maybe later.

She considered killing her way out. No. Too many.

She contemplated possible avenues of diplomacy. She had nothing to bribe, blackmail or coerce Caesar with. She had nothing he wanted any more, and without Yes Man nothing to intimidate him with either.

She thought about sending for help. There was no one to send, and no one to send to. Everyone in Vegas was hiding, escaped or dead, and she was the villain anyway, having led the Legion here. Anyone who could have helped her would sooner kill her. 

She had only a few cards left. Her looks, and her cunning. Unfortunately Vulpes Inculta had proved himself to have considerably more cunning than her. That left looks.

She remembered Caesar’s suggestion that she form a liaison with one of his men. It hadn’t been mentioned again. Now she pondered the offer a second time. It was questionable whether it was still on the table, but she decided that if it was, then it was, at least, an option. It could buy her some time. Better to be fed to one dog than the pack.

All day, the Courier stayed in her gilded cage, plotting and fretting.

She hunted in the wardrobe and dresser drawers of her room. They contained the abandoned belongings of some of the UltraLuxe’s hastily departed guests. She found an evening gown that would be suitable. It was pale gold, with a split up one side that reached to the hip. An eye-catching, man-catching dress. Perfect.

In the bathroom she brushed, washed, dried and brushed again her hair, then carefully arranged it piled on her head with a few attractive curls spilling down. She found some make-up and applied it. Just as she was putting the final touches on her ensemble there was a quiet knock on her door. She froze for a second, a sense of dread momentarily returning, then took a breath, calmed herself and answered it.

It was Vulpes Inculta.  
“May I come in?” he enquired.  
_No,_ thought the Courier as she forced a smile onto her face and opened the door. “Please do.”  
Inculta’s calculating eyes scanned the room, then her.  
“You will be the belle of the ball,” he observed, his smile as thin as hers.  
“I’ll be the _only_ woman at the ball, I imagine?”  
“The only free woman,” Inculta corrected, sitting down on her bed and bouncing very slightly on the springs, as though testing it for comfort and noise. “For the time being, at least.”  
“Meaning?”  
Inculta looked up at her, and his expression clearly read _What don’t you get?_

***

The Courier took another slow, calming breath. Losing it now would not help. “What precisely does Caesar plan for me?” she asked Inculta.  
“It is not for me to predict the will of Caesar,” was the mechanical response.  
“An educated guess?” she pressed.

Inculta was eyeing her from top to toe. He took in her shimmering gown, its long slit, her made-up face and glamorous hairstyle. His gaze was appraising more than admiring. Gauging her value.

“He may auction you off. That or gift you to whichever of his men he is most pleased with.” He leaned back against her pillows comfortably.

Fighting not to bite her lip, a childhood habit she still did when nervous but which she knew made her look young and foolish, the Courier asked, “Will Lucius bid for me?”

Her plan, such as it was, had been to capture the heart of Lucius. A man influential with Caesar, but not obviously psychopathic like Vulpes and Lanius. Steady, fatherly Lucius would fall in love with her tonight, she had decided, and his favour, garnering Caesar’s favour in turn, would protect her. Hopefully.

“I doubt it. Lucius has not bid for a woman since he married, two years ago,” Vulpes answered. “Why, do you aspire to him?”  
“Would you bid for me?” the Courier said hastily to change the subject, but regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.  
“Perhaps. It depends on the price. I don’t think you’re worth very much.”  
He had assessed her value, and found her wanting. And Lucius would not want her either, if Inculta was telling the truth. What now.

She decided that now was as good a time as any to start a rumour she hoped to use later that night as a further enticement to Lucius.  
“Really? A virgin ought to command a high price, I would have thought.”  
“Indeed. Do you know any?”  
“I am one.”  
“No you’re not,” he said. “You aren’t even a good liar.”  
“You’re wrong, I have been saving my virginity for marriage,” she said stubbornly. He couldn’t possibly know.  
“Benny?” suggested Inculta.  
“Definitely not. Why on earth would I sleep with him, he tried to kill me!”  
“I wondered the same thing. But you did. I saw you.”  
The Courier whispered, “You did not.”

Vulpes got up and moved toward her. She stepped back and found her back against the wall. He came very close, locking eyes with her. She found herself holding her breath. He glanced down at her breasts, where her nipples were standing out against the slinky cloth of her gown. He insouciantly caressed them, staring at her again. She couldn’t look away.  
He parted his lips and a creepily perfect evocation of Benny’s voice came out. “ _Nice charlies_ ,” he said. “ _Give ‘em a shake for the Ben-man, won’t you?_ ” He squeezed them. “ _Mmm... that was a nice bit of... hey-hey... you’re a real –_ ” he tweaked her nipples painfully, “ _ring-a-ding broad_.”

He had been hidden in the room somewhere when she bedded Benny. That information was disturbing in itself, but worse, it made her realise how far ahead of her game he was. It had been no coincidence that he had intercepted her right outside Benny’s casino when she had left, later. Now she was forced to wonder what else Vulpes had on her.

“Help me escape,” she blurted, panic rising again.  
Inculta mimicked her tone of desperation. “No.”  
“Please.”  
Vulpes nodded, the cruel smile appeared on his lips again. “Beg me,” he said softly.  
The Courier bit her lip, and Inculta’s smile spread to his eyes.  
“Please. Please help me. _Please._ ” She was unable to meet his gaze.  
He made no move, just smiled at her. His gaze was intense. She knew what he wanted.

And she knew, deep down, that he would not give her what she wanted. But she was a mouse cornered in a maze, so she tried anyway.

Then she was on her back on the bed, eyes closed, dress pulled open, feeling Inculta rub the head of his stiffened cock against her till it was wet, then move into her. He fucked her deliberately slowly, meaning her to consider every moment. Maximum humiliation was his intention, she knew that, but knowing didn’t help her rise above it.  
“Open your eyes,” he whispered.  
As she did so, tears of anguish leaked from them. Inculta liked that. He kissed the tears away, almost tenderly, licking the moisture from his lips and staring into her eyes as his manhood, disproportionately large to his slight frame, bore painfully deeply and agonizingly slowly into her.

“The Legate Lanius may bid for you tonight,” he said a while later, readjusting his uniform in preparation to leave. “If he does, you may thank me for preparing you.” He nodded at her hips. “Some women do not survive his attentions. I advise you to stay nice and wet.”

“Help me escape,” she said hopelessly.  
He was already at the door. “No.”

She was alone again. Her composure was ruined, as were her makeup and hair. She redid everything, with slightly shaking hands, and when finally as luminescent as she could make herself, sat down and breathed deeply till she felt calm enough to leave her room.

Downstairs, the great ball had begun.

Naturally statuesque, the Courier looked magnificent as she descended the stairs into the ballroom, the long slit in her dress showing her legs well. She had intended to make a sensational entry, to further her aim of ensnaring Lucius. On the surface, she kept her poise. Inside, she was a mess. Inculta, the _right bower_ , had trumped her, out of the blue and with such ease. Jack takes Queen.

The ballroom of the UltraLuxe had been transformed. Huge red flags hung from the walls, and graffiti of trampling bulls adorned the spaces in between. Triumphal male camaraderie filled the air. They had feasted, and now large clusters of men were chanting Legion battle songs in deep baritones, arms round each others’ shoulders. The vast room oozed with testosterone. As she made her entrance, they stared at her, and keeping her composure, she looked in turn for Lucius, still hoping against hope that he might prove her saviour. He had seemed to genuinely like her, when she’d helped him out at the fort, bringing him parts to fix his Howitzer. But he was not at the great table with the other officers. He was not in the group of other praetorians, singing. He was not there at all.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes rested on her curvaceous figure, snugly clad in gold. There was no chance to back out now. She kept walking, weaving in an attempt to avoid some of the men’s eager hands, and made her way to Caesar.

The Legate Lanius, a gigantic brute of a man, sat to Caesar’s right, cruel Vulpes sat to Caesar’s left. All three stared at her as she arrived before them.

“My Lord Caesar,” she said, curtseying with practiced grace. She had practiced all afternoon.  
Caesar regarded her without replying.  
She stood, waiting for him to invite her to join him. He had to. If he didn’t... 

Mere seconds stretched out terrifyingly.

“Come sit here, little bird,” said Lanius, holding one giant arm out. There was no free seat next to him. Caesar still said nothing, so she made her way around to Lanius and perched awkwardly on the edge of his lap.

Lanius put the huge arm around her and pulled her on further, so her hip was solidly up against his crotch. He held her there and resumed a conversation in Latin with Caesar and the other men at the table. She listened, but could not interpret even the topic under discussion. She stopped trying, and started listening instead to the general hubbub in the room.

On the other side of the room, a band started to play deeply strange music. She was lost in a completely foreign culture, the Courier slowly realised. She could not understand its finer details, because she did not understand its base premises.

Lanius’ embrace was very warm. His voice, close to her ear, was deep and rolling. The way he spoke, his pacing and the moments when he paused were somehow almost hypnotic. The Courier found herself relaxing slightly, for the first time that day.

Until a lull in the conversation, when Caesar said to the table at large, in English, “Do you know why women wear lipstick?” He looked directly at her then.  
“Why?” she eventually asked, though she knew that whatever his answer would be, she wouldn’t want to hear it.  
“To mimic an engorged vulva.” Caesar said as though explaining a very erudite concept. Behind him, Vulpes grinned like a Cheshire cat.  
Instantly, the Courier became acutely aware of the too-red paste on her full lips, as did everyone else. Caesar said something in Latin, gesturing at her mouth, and the men all laughed nastily.

Except Lanius. She felt his whiskers brush her ear as his low voice murmured, “I don’t need paint to remind me to think of your cunt.”

***

There was a disturbance in the crowd, and Lucius appeared, approaching with Cato Hostilius and two other legionaries the Courier didn’t know. They led a group of women, wearing evening gowns like her, but each with a slave collar around their necks. Little coloured lights flashed merrily from the collars. They were captures, females who had not had time to escape the casinos when the Legion swept in. The prettiest had been picked out and dressed up, to be sold to the highest bidders. They would not become general slave fodder, for the ceaseless mending, food preparation, and haulage work carried out by the plainer women. There was a yet darker future for the pretty ones.

Over the next half an hour, the women were sold off, Cato acting as auctioneer. From her perch on Lanius’ lap the Courier could see the sums of money changing hands. They were trivial, mere coinage. The legionaries had very little money of their own. It dawned on her that this auction was being held for purposes not of revenue-gathering, but of the evening’s entertainment.

As the women were bought and led away, most did not even make it out of the ballroom before they were bent over tables by their purchasers. Crowding around, men cheered and openly fondled themselves as they watched the spectacle. The air began to smell of sex. Small on the giant’s lap, the Courier tried to shrink further, to become invisible, to not exist.

Lanius took his arm off her to reach for his jug of water, and the Courier found herself badly wanting the arm back. His patronage was the only thing between her and those ravening beasts. She cowered on his lap, tucking her face into his neck, hoping somehow to be forgotten. Lanius drank, then replaced his arm around her, slowly stroking her thigh.

“Are you afraid?” he whispered in her ear.  
Her breath against his neck, she admitted ,“Yes.”  
“Every man in this room wants to fuck you,” Lanius said. “But instead they satisfy themselves with these other whores.”  
“I won’t be sold, then?”  
“You will. But your purchaser will need to be a man of greater means than any of those.” 

Legionaries were forming syndicates to pool their money and buy a woman to share. She watched as one woman was bought by a whole contubernium of eight men. The woman was led away by the jubilant men. She looked terrified, but the Courier had little sympathy to spare. She was staring into the jaws of a similar fate.

Could Lanius afford to buy her even against the pooled resources of, say, a dozen men, she wondered? Did she even want Lanius to buy her? She remembered what Vulpes had said, _Some women do not survive his attentions..._

A few yards away, a woman the Courier vaguely recognised as a cocktail waitress from the Gomorrah was taking a legionary in the mouth while two more vied to cram themselves simultaneously into her from behind, a fourth jerking himself impatiently at her face, next in the queue.

For the hundredth time that day, the Courier was struck by how incredibly naïve she had been, to think it was worth outmaneuvering the NCR by siding with these animals; how deluded, to think them her friends.

Lanius pulled her knee up, so that it shielded his other hand, which slipped into the slit of her dress and up her inner thigh. No one was watching, all eyes were on the women being ravished around the room. No one noticed Lanius’ forearm moving under the Courier’s dress. No one heard her small gasp as his fingers found her outer lips, then moved further in, to feel her moistness. The Courier froze perfectly still. Her mind had gone beyond panic into blankness. She did nothing, and he continued his explorations.

Lanius put his mouth very close to her ear and spoke low.  
“You are wet. Do you like to watch other women being so well attended to?”  
She couldn’t answer. Lanius’ fingers slid deeper, curling inside her, twisting, feeling and massaging her entrance.

“And very narrow. We will have to do something about that, later” he murmured. With his free hand, he took hers and pushed it down between her hip and body. She felt his cock, hard beneath her and straining upwards, pressing against the underside of her thigh. His girth was tremendous. Her fingers could not close around it, not anywhere near.

“Do you think you can take me inside you, little bird?”  
“I don’t know,” the Courier whispered.  
“Shall we will find out?” asked Lanius.  
Again the Courier couldn’t answer - but she didn’t have to, because the last of the other women had just been sold, and Cato was coming for her.

So much for hoping to be overlooked. Far from it. She was to be the star lot at this auction. Lanius smoothly withdrew his fingers from her and was sitting casually by the time Cato arrived at them. She clung to the giant, but Cato dragged her off, and Lanius did nothing to prevent it. 

She was manhandled up onto the stage. Cato spoke in Latin, pointing out parts of her body. He made her turn slowly around, that the bidders might clearly see the goods. He tugged at the slit in her dress so her legs were briefly visible, and he cupped her full breasts, remarking on their weight. The Courier felt like a prize Brahmin. Yet despite that, she noticed herself standing in sultry poses, displaying her best sex appeal to the baying mob. Human nature is ever strange. Even in a situation as grave and unromantic as this, in front of men she was wholly unattracted to, and need do nothing to impress, her base instinct to be seductive still came to the fore.

And pleasing to the men’s thirsty eyes she was. The bidding began, and she saw Lucius bidding enthusiastically for her. Vulpes had been lying about Lucius not being interested in her. Watching him make bid after bid, the Courier felt oddly shocked. Somehow, even though he was a legionary, she had believed he wasn’t like the others. She had been wrong about that too. Still, he had been her first choice, and if he won her tonight, her plan might still - sort of - work. She held her waist sucked in, her breasts pushed out, her lips a little parted, her eyelashes a little lowered. Lucius bid again.

It did look like he was winning her. Cato shouted something that even in Latin was clearly understandable as “going once!”

But then Vulpes the liar twitched a finger in the air. So much for saying she wasn’t worth anything to him. That had been a lie too. Lucius looked amused at first, then increasingly annoyed as Vulpes kept bidding him up. Lucius made a bid and snapped something at Vulpes. Vulpes shrugged and bid again. He gave the Courier a look that said it all - he was doing this just for kicks. He knew that she had wanted Lucius to win her, and he was thwarting her plan, for no advantage of his own beyond pure amusement.

Frowning, Lucius counted his money and gave up, shooting a resentful look at Vulpes.

The Courier stole a glance at Lanius. He was sitting calmly, watching her, and appeared to be chewing on his finger. He gave the Courier a look of his own, and she realised he was tasting the finger that had been inside her.

Going once! Cato shouted. No one else bid. Vulpes was going to win her. Then, knowing him, sell her on, thought the Courier. She stared at him, silently cursing him, but looks have never killed and they didn’t this time either. Vulpes grinned back at her.

Going twice! Cato howled. There was a pause. Then Lanius raised the finger he had been enjoying.  
“ _Sexaginta novem sestertii_ ,” he said in his deep voice. There was a silence around the room. Whatever he had said, it was a number that brooked no competition. Lucius looked impressed. Vulpes’ sharp-toothed grin morphed into a hard-eyed blankness.

***

Lanius came up onto the stage to claim his prize. The Courier had no idea what to expect, but she could never have imagine what he did next. He scooped her up, threw her in the air, caught her and held her high over his head in upstretched arms, one hand spread between her shoulderblades, the other supporting her tailbone. Then he roared. A full-throated, terrifying, inhuman roar, that electrified the legionaries, who began to roar back till the noise in the room was deafening and the Courier, suspended face-up in the air and only able to see the jittering lights of the Ultra-Luxe’s chandeliers, thought she was already dead and very probably in hell.

How she got down and off the stage was a blur, but when next she was able to gather her thoughts, Lanius was holding her close and walking her towards the centre of the room. Chairs and tables were being pushed back, and the women who moments ago were being ravished by their purchasers, were now being hastily re-dressed. They, and a group of new women who had entered the room, were lining up opposite men in two long lines.

The women faced the men. What bizarre and terrible ritual was this to be?  
“What is happening?” the Courier asked, mystified and fearful.

Lanius’ answer could not have been more surprising. “It is time for dancing. Come, my little bird. You will dance with me.”

He pulled her through the groups of men, who parted for the Legate with heads bowed. Cato shouted something to the musicians, who started playing different music, though equally strange to the Courier’s ears.

The women who had just entered did not look like the usual emaciated slaves of the Legion. Lanius ushered her to stand with them, and himself went to stand with the men. On a musical cue, the men and women began a very formal, slow, stylised dance.

The Courier and the other freshly-sold women were none of them familiar with this kind of dance, and had to learn fast, copying what the others did. It was a kind of walking-dance, walking up to the men, turning around once or sometimes twice, backing away, then walking parallel while regarding each other.

“Who are these women?” the Courier asked, during a phase of the dance where she and Lanius were circling each other.  
“Slaves.”  
“They do not look like slaves.”  
“Every woman in the Legion is a slave. As is every man.”  
“Are you a slave?” He couldn’t mean that.  
“Yes.” He said it with no rancour.  
The Courier couldn’t understand that. “If Caesar has enslaved you, why do you love him?”

The dance led them away from each other, so she got no answer. For a giant of a man, he was light on his feet. His movements were graceful and precise. He was renowned for his skill as a swordfighter, and it was easy to see why. 

When they were brought together again, Lanius answered her.  
“Caesar’s will is the will of Mars, and I am his executor.”  
“Who is Vulpes, then,” asked the Courier, thinking, _his excrement_.  
“His herald,” said Lanius simply.  
“Lucius?”  
“His shield.”  
“Who am I?”  
“You are no one.”

She knew he would say it, but it felt like a slap no less. She had outlived her usefulness to the Legion, and now was nothing. Just a toy.

He took her hand and they parted again to walk at outstretched arms’ length of each other, he still holding her fingers. They looked sideways at each other as they moved. The dance was symmetrical for the men and women, but there was no mistaking the power imbalance. It was a dance of cats and mice.

***

They say that to dance together is a certain step towards falling in love. Perhaps it’s the overlapping of auras, perhaps the exchange of pheromones, or perhaps the pleasing display of physicality, but as they circled each other, he holding her hand lightly and guiding her movements, both Lanius and the Courier only had eyes for each other.  
When next they were very close, Lanius leant down to whisper in her ear.

“Do you want me, Courier?”  
This was perplexing, and she did not know how to answer. He owned her now, so there was no reason why he should care if she wanted him or not.  
“I would have, if I were able to choose you,” she answered. It wasn’t the complete truth. She did want him, despite her better judgment. But the thought of what he would do to her body frightened her, and she admitted as much.

“It is right that you should fear me. However, I want you to desire me as well,” Lanius said, close her ear. His deep voice resonated through her body, directly to her sex.  
“When I enter your mouth, will you open widely for me, suck willingly, and drink deeply?”  
The Courier nodded, electrified.  
“When I spread you open, will you be wet for me?”  
“Yes,” she breathed.  
“When I pierce you, stretch you and hurt you, will you yield to me?  
“Yes.”  
“When you reach ecstasy, will you cry my name?”  
“I will.”  
Lanius gazed at her, and she forced herself to bravely meet his gaze.  
“Show me how well you can please me, Courier. And how well I please you. Then we will have a talk about your future,” he said, pulling her away from the dance.

As they walked upstairs, towards Lanius’ room, the Courier’s heart beat so hard and so fast she felt giddy.

What was her future, if Lanius was not satisfied with her performance? Death? Handed to the other men? Death was a distinct possibility even if he was satisfied, at least if Vulpes was to be believed. Having felt the size of Lanius’ cock when she was sitting on his lap earlier, he was inclined to think Vulpes had probably been telling the truth on that point. How would she take him in? What would he do if she couldn’t – just tear her open?

Her heart beat faster and faster, till she thought she might be having a heartattack.

Lanius opened his bedroom door, and pushed her inside. She desperately thought how to delay the inevitable.  
“May I use your bathroom, please?” she asked.

He gestured to a door at one side of the room.

In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. “You are going to die,” she whispered to herself. Oddly, it made her feel slightly better.

There was a small, beautifully painted china box next to the sink. It was a strangely feminine item in a suite that had no other obvious female belongings. She opened it.

“You may thank me later for this, too”, read a note inside it, on top of a vial of Slasher with a built-in needle. Slasher was half Psycho, half Med-X. The Courier had used it before, very occasionally, in battles where the chance of serious injury was high. It was extremely potent for damage reduction, but also terribly addictive.

The note wasn’t signed, but she knew who had left it for her.

The needle hurt as it entered her vein, but as the drug flowed into her bloodstream, the pain stopped, and she felt nothing unpleasant when she pulled it out. She tucked the empty vial back into the box, flushed the note, and stepped back into Lanius’ bedroom. She was ready, now.

Lanius was still in his armour, leaning against the wall, waiting for her in the time-honoured fashion that men wait for women.

As she walked towards him, he unlatched the metal plates protecting his crotch and his erection sprang out, gargantuan in size. The Courier didn’t wait to be told. She knelt before him and took the magnificently-proportioned penis in her hands, stroking it, and kissing up and down the shaft. She licked the underside, from the base upwards, and was gratified to see moisture glistening on its very end. She tasted it with the tip of her tongue. Lanius let out a low growl at the feel of her tongue on the most sensitive part.

“Suck,” he commanded gruffly. She obeyed, opening her mouth as wide as she could and letting him slide in. Her teeth grazed the skin on his cock but it seemed to please him even further. When she could take not a millimetre more, she closed her lips and sucked, massaging him with her tongue as she did so.

In the next room, watching through the spycamera he’d installed, Vulpes admired how her throat stretched to take the Legate’s monstrous erection. He caressed his own cock with long, slow strokes, careful not to get too excited yet. There would be much, much more to enjoy.

The Legate, likewise, did not want to go too fast. He was looking forward to a long and pleasurable evening of violent sex.  
He looked down at her, watching her working diligently on his erection.  
“You are doing well, little bird,” he said gently, almost affectionately. “Let us move to the bed. I am going to take you, and let us hope you are ready for me, because whether you are or not, I will fuck you without mercy.”

The Courier stood and moved towards the bed. She was not afraid, now. The Slasher coursed through her veins, and she wanted nothing more than to be fucked by this man, as hard as he could give it to her.

“I’m going to stretch your sweet cunt wider than you could ever imagine,” Lanius promised, tearing off her dress and smiling in appreciation at the sight of her body. “I’m going to penetrate you so deeply you will feel me in your ribcage. You will feel nothing but my cock, possessing you.” He pushed her down onto the bed, and roughly dragged her legs apart, exposing the moist pink flesh at their apex.

Kneeling between her legs, he rubbed the head of his cock up and down her slit.  
“Do you fear me?”  
“Yes, Legate. I know you can kill me.”  
“Do you desire me?”  
The Courier whispered, “Yes.”  
With that, he pushed the head of his tremendous manhood against her small, slick opening. No admittance. He pushed harder, grunting, and the bulbous head slowly squeezed through her narrow entry and popped into her body. It was breathtaking; and the Courier gave an involuntary cry. But he was only partly in, there was a lot more for her to accommodate yet.

Lanius wasn’t stopping. He pressed, more and more of his length penetrating her, till she gasped for him to pause, and let her breathe.

“How does that feel, Courier?” he asked softly.  
“It feels... extraordinarily good,” she gasped with honesty. Or at least, the Slasher was being honest.  
It was giving her dutch courage too, because when Lanius asked, “Are you ready to be fucked?”, she answered with a challenge.  
“More than ready. Do it. As hard as you know how.”

Vulpes’ eyes were glued to the screen as he watched the Courier’s cunt stretch delightfully to swallow Lanius’ erection, lubricated by Vulpes’ own semen. He was stroking himself faster now, timing his strokes to match Lanius’ thrusts into her. The Courier was moaning shamelessly, eyes closed, hands clutching at the air, trapped under Lanius’ grip.

Lanius pounded with increasing force. Vulpes pulled harder on his straining erection. The Courier’s moans became more like wails.

When he felt himself close to release, Lanius pulled out of her. He had barely even broken a sweat. The Courier begged him to get back inside her, rubbing herself desperately. He watched, letting himself calm down, then swatted her hand away and lay down on his back, lifting her over him.

“Show me what you can do, Courier,” he rumbled.  
He didn’t have to ask twice. She positioned herself over him, then rubbed the head of his cock against her swollen clitoris, stroking it up and down her wet opening. It would hurt tomorrow, but right now, thanks to the Slasher, she felt no pain, only intense erotic pleasure. She pinched her nipples with her other hand, and holding his gaze, let herself slide down onto his erection, slowly, filling herself up with him, then raised her hips up and slid down slowly again. Gradually she increased her speed.

Vulpes had a beautiful view of this action. He saw the pink lips of her cunt part around the Legate’s humongous cock and slide wetly down around him, marvellously stretched. He saw her little pink asshole above, and knew it would be next to receive the stretching, followed by the pounding. He couldn’t wait.

The Courier went faster and faster. She bounced up and slammed down on the Legate, hair and breasts flying. She wasn’t even thinking about saving her skin now. She was only thinking of the sensation.

After a time Lanius got close again, and again pushed her off him. He knelt above her and rubbed his slick cock all over her face. She tried to lick him as he roughly mashed his cock into her eyes and lips.  
“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” his voice was a lustful growl.  
“No,” she lied.  
“You want it?” he said roughly. It wasn’t a question.  
“Yes.”  
“Beg for it.”  
“Fuck me, Legate, please. I need it. Fuck me in the ass. Please.”  
“How hard.” He pushed the head of his cock into her mouth.  
She cupped his balls, and pulled him deeper into her mouth. “Hard a’ you ngow how,” she gurgled, trying to suck him at the same time.

“Fuck me in the ass, Legate,” Vulpes mimicked softly. He would be fucking her in the ass himself soon enough. All in good time. She had a lot to thank him for.

Lanius withdrew from her mouth and she got down on all fours, knees wide, ass towards him. The Legate rubbed some of the slippery wetness from her battered cunt up to her tightly closed hole, moistening her until he could get his index fingers in. Then he stretched her. Her little red entrance looked so enticing that he spontaneously leant down and licked it. He pushed his fingers further in, pulling her open, then pushed his tongue between them, right inside her.

The Courier was stunned. She’d been fucked in the ass before, but no man had had the balls, or maybe the lunacy, to put his tongue in there. It felt good though, and she wasn’t complaining.

Vulpes couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, either. How could a man lower himself to lick a woman’s ass? Maybe the Legate knew something he didn’t. Maybe it gave pleasure, of a type he could only guess at. He decided to give it a try, when he got the chance. After making her take a bath, of course.

Her hole thoroughly lubricated, Lanius was ready to oblige her pleading. He aimed, and plunged in.

It was too fast and the Courier screamed in shock. It still wasn’t painful, the drug took care of that, but the sensation felt all wrong.  
“Don’t tear me!” she shrieked.  
“I’ll tear you if I want to,” was Lanius’ gruff response, but he paused, moved out a little, then moved in more slowly. A serious tear here would result in peritonitis and a very short-lived slave, he knew from experience. And he was liking this Courier, her skilful mouth and her always-wet cunt. He wanted her to last.

Vulpes’ cock jumped in excitement when the Courier screamed. He gripped it harder and squeezed as he pumped, avidly watching her defilement.

Lanius pushed further and further, until he had the satisfaction of seeing himself fully embedded in her flesh, stretched tautly around his pulsing manhood.

“Ready, little bird?” he asked, after he’d given her body a moment to adjust to the full extent of his intrusion.  
“Yes,” she panted.  
“This is going to be painful,” he warned her.  
“I’m ready,” she affirmed. It felt alright now. Good, even.

He fucked her slowly and forcefully. The Courier wailed and moaned, but she pushed back into him nonetheless, willing him to go as deep as he could. He moved faster, grunting with pleasure at the view of his long, thick cock vanishing into her on each thrust. He slapped the voluptuous cheeks of her rump, over and over again till he made a pattern of red handprints on each one. He felt himself get close once more, and pulled her up so that she sat back onto his cock, grabbing her breasts and squeezing as he breathed raggedly into her ear. She kept up a fast bouncing rhythm on his cock, pushed three fingers into her cunt, and frantically rubbed her clitoris with her other hand, desperate for release.

Release, when it came, was something. The Courier had never experienced a climax quite like it before. She didn’t know if it was due to the punishing penetrations, or perhaps more likely due to the Slasher, but it was good. Very, very good. She wanted more.

Vulpes allowed himself release too, as he watched Lanius throw her down and spurt hot liquid all over her. The Courier looked so alluring with long tendrils of semen decorating her flushed, overexcited body.

Utterly spent, Vulpes switched off the monitor, and sighed deeply. That was satisfying, indeed. He fell into bed and soon was asleep.

The Courier and Lanius did not go to sleep. They fucked each other again, until the early hours of the morning, when the weight of their eyelids finally beat their lust.

The Courier dreamt of swimming, alone and naked, in a lake of thick, milky liquid, the tentacles of unseen monsters swirling below, reaching up to suck against her flesh and penetrate her every orifice, rendering her unable to scream.

***

 

The room was filled with natural light. Groggily the Courier opened her eyes. The bathroom door was half open and steam swirled within. Lanius was in the shower. She could use a shower herself. She sat up. Her whole body ached. Lanius’ primary purpose had not been cruelty, and the Slasher had done its job in protecting her from the most serious damage, but she was still deeply bruised.

Slasher. Mmm. The thought of more was quite appealing. Not only had it protected her, it had made her horny as hell. Without it, the thought of what had happened last night, happening again tonight... ouch.

Lanius came out of the bathroom, little curls of steam rising from his naked, still wet body. As a man, at first sight he was certainly striking; he could even be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which were uncommonly harsh, and the general brutishness of his countenance, is perceived. He came to stand in front of the Courier, rubbing the water out of his hair with a threadbare towel. He gazed at her, saying nothing, and she gazed back. His physique was phenomenal. Looking at his powerful figure, the Courier thought that if she had a steady supply of slasher, she could quite well tolerate being his private concubine – until she escaped, that is. 

Without speaking, Lanius gestured to her to suck his growing erection.

She was kneeling on the floor, mid-fellatio, when with no warning the door opened and Lucius entered, followed by Caesar, Cato and another Praetorian guard.

Lanius stood to attention and saluted Caesar. The Courier immediately stopped sucking and got to her feet.

Caesar cast a dour eye on her.  
“Did someone say you could stop?”

The Courier looked at Lanius, but he just stared back at her expressionlessly. She got back to her knees and took him once more in her mouth. Her cheeks were burning.

“She doesn’t show much appreciation for her good fortune,” Caesar remarked, observing her limited movements.  
Tousling her hair, Lanius said, “Ah, she’s just shy. She was a very good girl last night, weren’t you, pretty one?”  
“Oh?” asked Caesar, with what, to the Courier, was a disturbing amount of interest.  
“Mm. She likes her holes thoroughly stretched.”  
“ _All_ her holes?” Caesar enquired. He chuckled, and the other men followed suit.

They broke into Latin, presumably talking business. The Courier attended to Lanius’ erection, vividly aware of the five men’s eyes on her. She wondered if it was possible to sink any lower than this, sucking her owner’s cock while he chatted to his boss.

Presently the conversation ended and Caesar seemed about to take his leave. Then he paused.  
“Show me what you did with her last night,” he said to Lanius. “I was not expecting her to survive a night with you. I’d like to see how she does it.”

The Courier found herself on her knees on the bed, ass in the air, face in the sheets. Her reddened holes were both fully on display to the men. Lanius got up on the bed, facing the men, then crouched over her rump and pushed his still-wet cock downwards, right into her bruised ass.

A long moan escaped her lips as he went deeply into her.

“Very nice,” Caesar said softly. “Lucius, get under her.”

Lucius obediently took off his armour and wriggled underneath her. His cock was already hard and when he angled it into her cunt and Lanius pushed her down hard onto him she gasped at the shocking feeling of dual penetration.

If only it were to stay dual.  
Caesar was just getting started, however. “Cato, get in her mouth.”

The final touch was the Praetorian guard being ordered to enter her cunt, already full of Lucius. He pointed the latter fact out and was told curtly to make it happen.

The guard stood behind her, face to face with Lanius, and carefully worked his erection halfway into her cunt. Caesar inspected closely.  
“What do you call that? All the way in, for fuck’s sake,” he said, exasperated.

It wasn’t as easy as that. The guard had to work hard to squeeze more and more in, till he was swallowed whole.

“Now fuck the uppity little bitch,” Caesar commanded.

Lucius couldn’t do much from his position below the Courier, but the other three Legionaries began to thrust heartily in and out of her.

“What a fine sight,” Caesar sighed.

The Courier thought again about the series of events that had led her to this moment. Could she have foreseen it? Not this exactly, perhaps, but bad things generally, yes. Could she have done things differently? Most certainly.

She was becoming quite familiar with the bitter taste of regret.

Vulpes, in the next room, was returning from raiding the Gomorrah’s dungeons for hardcore Courier-fucking supplies. He dumped the big bag full of items onto the floor of his room, and flicked on the monitor to see if Lanius was gone yet. 

He was confronted by a most surprising sight.

***

When, later, the men had gone, and the Courier had dragged herself to the shower, she tried to wash every trace of them off her.

Escape, she thought as she scrubbed. Escape. You are the Courier, not a slave. Escape.

She dressed herself in a drab brown-checked man’s suit that she found in the wardrobe, and tucked her hair up under its accompanying trilby hat. There was nothing to use as a weapon, she’d just have to wing it. Saunter down the corridors and out of the back door of the building like nothing was happening.

She took a deep breath, opened the door of Lanius’ room, and stepped out in the direction of the elevator.

“Leaving so soon, dear Courier?” said a voice like treacle.

She broke into a run without even looking at the source of the voice. She knew who it was. The elevator was at her floor, door open, and she jabbed the button frantically. The old doors seemed to take a million years to close, and before they had, he slid in and grabbed her.

The lift started going down, but Vulpes flipped the emergency stop switch and it juddered to a halt between floors, making a beeping sound to signify that an alarm was going off in some unattended maintenance room.

They struggled for a while, the Courier trying to unflip the switch, Vulpes trying to prevent and subdue her.

She would not be subdued, and eventually he punched her hard in the stomach to wind her. Once she was doubled up, gasping for breath, he kicked her feet out from under her and she slumped down heavily.

“Do not fight me, Courier,” he hissed, “you can not win.”  
She didn’t answer, still occupied with trying to breathe.

Vulpes sat down next to her.  
After a while he said companionably, “Things aren’t going very well for you, are they, Courier.” He patted her knee. “And they’re not going to get better. You might as well get used to it. But don’t worry, I’m going to help you.”

He took a large vial of slasher from a pocket. “I came to bring you this. It’s a double dose. You can have half now, to help you recover from last night’s fun with Lanius, and half later, to prepare you for tonight’s.”

She didn’t try to resist as he took her arm and skilfully injected the chem.

As the Med-X component took its place in her system, the all-over aching faded and was replaced by a warm glow. Her subconscious yearning for more slasher was sated, too.  
“Thank you,” she muttered.  
“All better?” he asked.  
“Don’t patronise me.”

***

He took her back to his room. The monitor was on, innocently showing a splitscreen montage of corridors.

Vulpes turned the radio on, and the instrumental “Slow Bounce” filled the air.

Reclining in a chair with his back to the window, Vulpes ordered the Courier to stand in the middle of the room and take off her ugly suit.

“Slowly,” he specified when she began. “It’s a strip show, not getting ready for a dip in Lake Mead.”

The Courier, high on slasher and finding Vulpes less unappealing than usual as a result, began to strip seductively, the way they used to do it on stage in the Gomorrah.

She’d heard “Slow Bounce” a zillion times, but only now appreciated what ideal stripping music it was, if slightly comical. She unbuttoned and slid her jacket off, twirling it around in the air in time with the music, nearly making herself laugh. Next came the shirt. Before taking it all the way off she shimmied her chest, giving him peekaboo glimpses inside.

Vulpes was visibly hard, but not doing anything about it yet. He sat very still and breathed slowly, intently watching the show.

When all that remained was her hat, the Courier took it off, shook her hair out, and playfully frisbee’d the hat at Vulpes. It landed on his head at a rakish angle. He stayed perfectly still, gazing at her from under the brim.

“I’ve been a bad girl,” she said as a joke, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.  
“Yes, you have,” Vulpes agreed. He wasn’t joking.  
“What? No I haven’t!”  
“You have, and you must be commensurately punished. Get to your hands and knees.”

Vulpes ordered her to crawl on all fours to a canvas bag that was in a far corner of the room. He told her to take the clothing from the top of the bag and put it on. ‘Clothing’ was probably the wrong word for the flimsy black lace half-cup bra and suspender belt that she put on. There were sheer stockings to go with the suspender belt, and no underwear.

“Back on your knees,” he ordered. “Pick out the flower, in your mouth, and bring it here.”  
The courier nosed into the bag. ‘The flower’ turned out to be a butt plug with a flower pattern on the external part. She gripped it lightly between her teeth, hoping it had been disinfected since last used, and crawled back to Vulpes.

Vulpes applied a little oil and smoothly inserted it into her rear. “You fucked other men without my permission.”  
“What?”  
Vulpes played with the toy, pushing it in and out, ever so slowly. “Lucius... Cato... Brutus...”  
“Oh. And Lanius.”  
“Lanius, I allow you to fuck. The others, no.”  
“Take it up with Caesar,” the Courier said. “Besides, I don’t know what you mean by allowed to. I was bought by Lanius, not you.”  
“I let him buy you, because I can have you anyway.”  
“If he knew you were doing this he would kill you.”  
“Wrong. He would kill _you_. Only Caesar can ordain my death,” said Vulpes.  
“He could just ask Caesar’s permission to off you.”  
“Many have tried.” Vulpes smiled humourlessly. “Now, my dear. I’m in the mood for something else. Go back to the bag and find the prod.”

He watched as she crawled across the room, her cute decorated butt swaying from side to side.

The bag was full of all sorts of strange and disconcerting equipment. They had been quite inventive, down there in the Gomorrah’s darkest rooms. The ‘prod’ was a modified cattle prod, fitted out with a thick glass tube, and now an electrified dildo.

Over the course of that afternoon, Vulpes experimented on her with many of the pieces of equipment, but his favourite remained the modified cattle prod, and he kept returning to it, inserting it in her, mock-interrogating her, and giving her a jolt when she answered incorrectly.

Not that the jolts were unpleasant. They felt like a Brahmin kick, but in the Courier’s pain-free, artificially horny, well-lubricated state they felt just fine.

Eventually, he secured it in her, set on very low voltage, and told her to take his manhood in her mouth. As she sucked him, the electricity flowed through her tongue into his cock, and very soon he came so hard he looked almost terrorized himself.

Throughout the afternoon, Vulpes kept half an eye on the monitor.

When Lanius strode through the door of his room that evening, the Courier was lying casually on the bed, naked and cleaned up, reading _Lad’s Life_ magazine, waiting for him.

 _Lad’s Life_ was dedicated to the art and skill of survival. The columnists enthused about knot-tying and fire-making and water-locating. They had no tips for how to survive a situation as insane as the one the Courier now found herself in.

***

Days, then weeks, then months, passed in a blur. The Courier became accustomed to Lanius and didn’t need the drug anymore to withstand his nightly assault. She needed it for other reasons, though, and badly. She was utterly addicted.

Lanius became fond of her. He treated her with affection on their evenings together, and she sometimes felt the same towards him, though she couldn’t be sure if it was real or not.

Vulpes visited her every day. He was her pusher, and her pimp. She never felt affection for him, but he could make her laugh, occasionally. The half-hysterical laugh of the madwoman.

Sometimes she thought about telling Lanius about Vulpes, to get Vulpes out of her life. She didn’t really believe Vulpes’ claim that Lanius would kill her if she did. But he would prevent any further access – and that would stop her supply. Without her daily fix... the thought was unbearable.

So the status quo went on, until one day the Courier saw the opportunity for escape. A huge dust storm had blown up, and the Great Khans were using it as cover to attack New Vegas. Everyone was busy. The Courier dressed in a spare legion uniform stolen from Vulpes, and tried the exact same plan as last time. Just walk out. 

This time, it worked. No one noticed her slip into the service elevator, and out the laundry exit. The fighting was on the other side of Vegas. She climbed over the fortifications, and set off through the storm at a run. Direction didn’t matter, distance was the thing. The only mistake would be to run in a circle.

With a rag wrapped around her face to keep the sand out, she ran and ran. When the storm finally abated and she could recognise her surroundings, she was past the Mole Rat Ranch and most of the way to Nellis Air Force Base. The Boomers were still her friends... or at least not her enemies, as far as she knew. She skirted the rocky canyon wall and approached the base.

Pearl, leader of the Boomers, took her in. By then she was suffering severe chem withdrawal symptoms. Argyll, their doctor, treated the symptoms, but the underlying addiction would always remain. She would be a slasher junkie the rest of her life, willing to go without, but unable to resist a fix if it presented itself.

Luckily, such drugs were not readily available at Nellis.

Unluckily, the Legion found out, or guessed, where she had escaped to.

One day, after she had been there a week or two, Lanius himself appeared at their perimeter, requesting an audience with her. Pearl initially told him to go away, but he convinced her that there would be markedly unpleasant repercussions for the Boomers as a group if the Courier were not brought out to speak to him. Pearl’s duty of protection being to the Boomers, not the Courier, she gave way and brought her out.

Walking alone across the empty stretch of dirt to where Lanius stood, the Courier felt like she was walking the plank.

Lanius took her in his arms, and she fell into the sea.

He held her tightly and told her he had missed her, he loved her, he wanted her back at his side; and she started to lose sight of the sky above.

He stroked her hair and told her she was beautiful, and she started to drown.

He kissed her tenderly and told her he would annihilate the Boomers, and anyone else she took refuge with, unless and until she came back to him, and she touched softly down on the ocean floor.

They walked together, and eventually, the Courier found her voice again. She told Lanius she had run away from Vulpes, not him. She said she never wanted to see Vulpes again.

“So it shall be,” promised Lanius. He didn’t ask why, and for that she was grateful.

Dusk fell, and the lights of New Vegas came into view, less garishly bright that they had been in the city’s heyday.  
The Courier was nearly home.


	4. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F!Courier hears that Lanius has killed over 1000 women, and decides to sacrifice herself to end the cycle.

Sometimes the greatest heroes live and die unsung and unknown. 

But even if no one hears the tree falling in the wood, that doesn’t mean the birds and insects don’t.

Insects was exactly how Caesar treated women. They were worker ants, no more, endlessly hauling leaves on his command, not even allowed to know why.

The heroine in this story is a woman Caesar didn’t control, although he thought he did. She had no name. She was the Courier.

* * *

The Courier was on the path to greatness. All the factions of the Mojave vied for her favour, including Caesar himself. She had skills and smarts of a kind that made her invaluable to anyone she helped.

Caesar sent his most dashing spy to meet her and invite her to visit him. 

She considered the offer, and decided to accept. The propaganda flying around was at such fever pitch that nothing could be believed unless it was seen with one’s own eyes. The Courier decided to see for herself if Caesar’s Legion was really as bad as people said it was.

As for the spy – she wasn’t impressed by his charm. He was handsome, certainly, but his eyes were wrong. Burning, but not with life. She declined an offer to spend time with him the night before they departed.

Walking up Fortification Hill to Caesar’s tent at the top, she saw slaves starving, ill, struggling under immensely heavy loads, sadder than the saddest pack brahmin. The legionaries, by contrast, were fed. Not well, but not starving either. 

The legionaries were all men. The slaves were almost all women.

She saw a slave being flayed.

By the time she arrived in front of Caesar’s throne, the Courier knew exactly what she was looking at. A misogynistic megalomaniac. A cult leader, where everyone existed to serve him, under the guise of a greater purpose. A pathological bully, sitting on a ridiculous throne, obsessed with control.

They traded barbs under a thin veneer of civility. 

Caesar asked her to stay to dinner. She declined. Caesar asked her to do some errands for him. She declined those too.

Caesar asked her stay just long enough to meet the Legate Lanius, who was on his way and expected that afternoon, as he felt sure his general would impress her, even if his other men didn’t. The Courier asked why it was important for her to meet Lanius, as she felt confident that she had seen enough here already. Caesar boasted that no one who met Lanius could forget him. He was seven feet tall, wielding a sword named the Blade of the East, nearly as long as himself, with which he could behead two men in a single strike. He bedded a new woman every night, and executed them at dawn. No woman had ever survived to experience two nights with him. Finding new women to satisfy his tastes was constant work. Caesar had a taskforce devoted entirely to finding such women, amongst slavegirls, tribals and other women of the wastes. 

The relish with which Caesar told her these last facts made the Courier sick with both fury and sadness.

How long has this being going on, she asked.  
Oh, three years, at least, Caesar said carelessly. He has well over 1000 notches on his belt.  
Why does he kill them, she asked. Boredom? Jealousy? A constant need for tributes?  
You will have to ask him that yourself, Caesar told her. Will you stay?  
Yes. And I will be Lanius’ concubine tonight, the Courier declared, to the astonishment of all listening. 

And I will last more than one night, she thought. I will find a way to last forever, and not one single woman more will be abducted to die at his hands.

* * *

The Courier felt it was safe to assume Caesar was lying, or at least exaggerating, when he’d described Lanius’ dimensions. No one alive was that big. The deprivations of the wasteland tended to shrink, rather than grow, people. She waited in Caesar’s tent, outwardly calm, gazing sightlessly at her book whilst contemplating how she might achieve her objective. And if she failed, by what means she might arrange the death of Lanius. The timing would be tight.

He arrived later than expected, and the sun was already low in the sky. Horns sounded in the distance, and everyone in Caesar’s tent scrambled to attention. Except Caesar, lounging on his throne, and the Courier, who remained sitting at the table. 

Get up woman, Lucius, Caesar’s chief bodyguard, hissed at her. She met his eyes, to show that she had heard, and looked back at her book. There was no need to get up. She was an outsider, no part of their pecking order, and no one was above or below her. Lanius was no more, nor less, special to her than the slave who’d brought her water.

Two granite-jawed guards entered the tent, wielding lit torches. They stood aside, then two more, heavily armoured, guards entered. Very big men, the courier noticed. Easily 6’7”, 6’8”. She might have thought one of them was Lanius if there’s hadn’t been two.

When Lanius himself entered, the Courier’s composure almost slipped. There had been no exaggeration after all. Lanius was the hugest man she had ever seen, dwarfing the guards who had preceded him. He was literally a giant. Every part of him was covered in leather and steel-plate armour. No flesh showed. His face was hidden behind a horned helmet with a built-in facemask, in an old samurai style, complete with beard. Enormous bighorner-hide gloves and boots covered hands and feet. 

The Courier searched for something about him that she could focus on to reduce his immensity, something that would render him human. She found it. His steel chest-plate, below the stylised outlines of muscles, had a belly button pressed into it. A curiously personal detail for the maker to have added. A link to his birth, the bond between mother and infant. The Courier let out the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. He was human.

Lanius strode up to one of the two people in the room who were not standing to attention and saluting. Then he knelt before his god.  
_Ave Caesar_ his voice rumbled.  
_Ave Legatus_ Caesar replied. They exchanged further words in Latin, which the Courier interpreted as something like _What is the news?_ and _The news is good_.

Formalities over, Caesar and Lanius both got to their feet. Let us eat, said Caesar, still in Latin, moving over to the table where the Courier was sitting. She closed her book and rose to be introduced to Lanius.

My gift to you, Caesar said in English to Lanius. A wife for the night, and no ordinary one. This is the Courier, of whose exploits we have all heard.

Lanius turned to her. He didn’t speak, just nodded. His eyes were hidden in angled shapes of darkness.

Delighted to meet you, said the Courier. And I’m most grateful to Caesar for kindly agreeing to my request to be your concubine. She smiled gracefully at Caesar, who scowled because now Lanius knew that she wasn’t Caesar’s gift, she was her own.

Lanius said slowly, A volunteer? He shook his head. No, you mean to kill me.  
Perceptive, the Courier thought. Caesar, seeing his once-fine gift become more and more tarnished, rushed to exclaim, No no, I’m certain she doesn’t, besides, any attempt would be feeble at best.

I assure you, killing you is only Plan B. Plan A is to please you, the Courier said to Lanius, and her eyes smiled at him.

Lanius stared at her for a long time. Then a chuckle began to rumble in his chest, erupting into full-throated laughter. He nodded. I wish you good luck, he said.

Slaves brought platters of meat to the table, and Caesar ordered that everyone leave the tent but for the three of them, and one praetorian guard.

When it was just them, Lanius lifted his mask off, setting it down beside him at the table and running his fingers through his hair. The Courier saw his face for the first time, and was astonished. She had supposed he must be drastically scarred, or perhaps malformed in some way, but the opposite was true. Handsome was perhaps the wrong word, but he was strikingly attractive. Why hide such toothsome features? Too good-looking, perhaps? Had trouble persuading people to take him seriously? 

She made no comment. It would be revealed, in time. She couldn’t stop glancing at him, though. And he looked back at her.

They ate together. A robust conversation was had, though it was mostly the men talking in Latin; the Courier’s opinion was not sought on any subject, and was met with silence when she gave it unbidden. Caesar and Lanius were not hesitant to discuss strategies and secrets in front of her. She would be dead in the morning, after all.


	5. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part II

_What's brave, what's noble,  
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,  
And make death proud to take us. _

Lanius decided that the Courier and he should go for a private swim in Lake Mead before they retired for the evening. The Courier was glad for the suggestion. It would give her time to hatch her plan.

The sun was just disappearing below the horizon, and a pleasant twilight sky morphed above them as they walked down the hill. 

They climbed around the boulders at the edge of the lake till they found a sufficiently secluded spot. At the waterside, she stared at the glassy water for a full minute, checking for the telltale small bubble trails of lakelurks. There were none, so she stripped off her recon suit, leaving her underthings on, and slipped into the cool water.

The Legate was already naked. His helmet was the last thing, and he glanced around to make sure there were no observers before he took it off; then waded into the water, close to where she stood. The lake floor dropped down sharply, and ten feet from the shore it was collarbone deep for her, but only below the nipple for him. 

Lanius submerged himself in the crystal water, and she saw him below, rubbing his hands over his face and hair. He came bursting out, shaking his head and flicking water everywhere. The Courier laughed and tried to dodge the flying droplets, then ducked under, washing the wasteland dust from her face and hair.

When she came up the legate was moving closer. His eyes took all of her in, appraising. She wiped water out of her eyes. When she opened them again he was close enough that he could kiss her if he wanted to. 

The Courier pushed backwards in the water and let momentum take her out of his reach. 

He went under the surface again, and she saw him swimming under the water to her. He came up right under her, lifting her bodily out of the water and throwing her back a few feet, roaring with laughter as she slashed down on her back, limbs flailing. It was playful, certainly, but also an unnerving demonstration of his power.

Time to show some spirit. Gaining her balance again she scudded her hand on the water’s surface and splashed him, not in the eyes as that might provoke too violent a reaction, but up to the chin, enough to surprise him, tempering her insolence with a grin.

He liked it. He splashed her back, his giant’s hands driving a wave of water right over her. She came up laughing, and they play-fought with the water.

It was only a matter of minutes before play-fighting merged into kissing, real kissing, no play now. The Courier allowed Lanius to hold her close, one hand stroking her back and the other cupping her head, to press powerful kisses to her willing mouth.

She felt him growing hard, and expected to be penetrated right there and then, but he held back. He wanted to take his time with this new plaything, it seemed. _Good_ , the Courier thought. There’s no rush. Take all the time in the world.

When the sky started to darken and the water became opaque, it was no longer safe to be in the lake. Lanius hefted the Courier up so she could twine her legs around his waist, and waded back to shore. The feeling of clasping him between her legs, skin to skin, made her breathless. His heavily muscled legs strode through the resistant water. They dressed without touching or speaking, but letting their eyes caress each other’s bodies. The feeling between them was different now.

As they began to walk slowly back to the hill, the Courier chose her moment.  
Lord Lanius, have you heard the tale of the peerless Roman General who fell in love with an Egyptian Queen?

Lanius looked at her, his expression unreadable behind his mask. He walked on.

 _Ask me to tell you_ , the Courier thought.

Lanius paused in his stride. Tell me.

Marcus Antonius was a favourite general of Julius Caesar, she began, a man celebrated and feared in equal measure, and after Caesar’s death he became one of the triumvirs who ruled Rome and its empire.

The story was long, and full of thrilling turns and bold characters. The Courier timed her narration carefully, so that by the time they reached the top of the hill and entered the tent Caesar had provided for his most honoured guest, she was at a very exciting battle scene, and only about halfway through. Lanius remained silent throughout and she had no idea if he was enthralled, as was her plan; or if he was thinking about something else entirely.

As soon as they entered the tent, she stopped. The Legion usually strove to appear as an operation which eschewed luxury as weakness and was built on sweat and blood alone, so she had expected that the accommodations provided to the visiting general would be commensurately modest. They were not. The walls were draped in red velvet, the floors were carpeted with fine woollen mats woven with the image of the bull. There was real furniture, a chaise longue with a low table, and a vast, cushion covered bed. Near to the bed a marble bust of Caesar stood on a plinth.

The Courier smiled a mirthless smile inside. One rule for the serfs, another for the lords. Well, she would have it so, too. There would be a special rule for her.

A slave girl was in the tent, pouring water for them. She was emaciated as they all were, but had a beautiful head of hair. The starvation gave her large doe-eyes. She was pretty, in a dying sort of way. 

_I’m doing this for you_ , the Courier thought. And all the future yous. I’ll never say it, though. And soon I hope to forget it.

All she said aloud was, Thank you, leave now.

Why are you sending my slave away, Lanius wanted to know.  
Because, lord Lanius, anything you wish to have done will be done by me, was her reply. She unzipped her recon suit and let it drop to the floor. Naked, she approached him.  
I will answer to your every request, my lord. She traced the edging on his breastplate with her fingers. And your every desire.

You have displeased me already, Lanius said with a voice of gravel. He lifted his mask away, and removed his helmet, placing them on the table. His gaze burned into her.  
Assuming the authority to send my slave away. You must be punished.

How would you punish me, my lord?  
Lanius put his hands under the elastic binding she used to secure her breasts in place, and abruptly snapped it.  
Get down on your knees.  
I will not.  
What did you say?  
I kneel for no one.  
Oh… Lanius shook his head slowly, eyes bright and excited. You are a brave one.  
It’s called self-respect. May I assist to take your armour off?

He said nothing, staring at her wonderingly, as though trying to work out where she got the gall. Then he snorted and set about removing his steel plating, without her proffered help. She had won round one, but they both knew he had let her win. He found her insouciance mysterious and fascinating. How could she not be afraid of him? He had never met anyone, male or female, who was not afraid of him when he wanted them to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll only be one or two more instalments of this. Yep, smut incoming.


	6. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big sexy time with Lanius.

The Legate’s tent was dimly lit inside by flickering lanterns burning molerat oil. The smoky haze in the air, deep red decorations, and sound of rhythmic war drums from the camp outside gave the room a hallucinatory aura.

Lanius watched the Courier remove her garments. She had muscle form almost like a warrior. Scars like a warrior. But round breasts, hips and buttocks like a woman. Soft, sweet eyes, a gentle smile, like a new mistress.

The Legate rarely kept mistresses. He had a reputation to uphold, the Monster of the East, and part of that was his careful and deliberate barbarism to women, something that he had noticed early on in his career particularly pleased Caesar, and he had fostered primarily for that reason.

It had been fun, for a long time. He enjoyed the accolades from Caesar, the terror in the eyes of every woman he passed, and the respectful envy of the men. Now, however, he wondered what it would be like to actually develop a relationship with a concubine. To allow her to know him. Would it ruin him? Would Caesar be disappointed? Would the men scoff? Would it make him soft in battle?

These thoughts infuriated him. She was softening his heart, right now, with her sweet smile, tenderly stroking her hand down from his collarbone, over his furred chest, lightly pinching one of his nipples as her hand travelled south. His nipple stiffened in response. No! It could not be tolerated.

He grasped her around the ribs and lifted her, enjoying the gasp of fright she made as she was hoisted up like she weighed nothing. In fact, he covered it well, but she did weigh a lot more than his usual tributes. Muscle was heavy and she had a lot of it. He held her up in the air and pressed his face into her pubic hair, still a little damp from their swim in the lake, inhaling deeply. She smelt enticing. He lowered her till her bosom met his face, and took her left breast into his mouth, teasing the nipple with his tongue. She would be the one whose nipples were played with, not him. He would not permit her to weaken him. 

He sucked hard and was gratified to hear her make another small gasp, the sound making his blood thrill, rushing throughout his body, channelling into his erection till the organ throbbed.

Without lowering her, he held her tightly around the waist with one arm and reached down with his free hand. She struggled to breathe in fully, and wrapped her legs around his torso to encourage him to release the pressure. He kept his grasp tight. Moving his mouth from her left breast to suck her right, Lanius encircled his cock in one huge fist and rubbed the head of it upwards, into her slit, pleased to find it slid smoothly back and forth in her moist folds. She was already wet for him, and he ached for her.

Precum leaked from his cock into her slit, moistening her further, till she was slippery enough to try for penetration. He let gravity push her down onto him, but her wet opening, ready and willing though it was, could not open wide enough to admit him - yet. 

He carried her over to the bed, and lay her down on her back, leaning over her and kissing her mouth roughly. I want to fuck you, he growled. And I think you want to be fucked, real hard.

She did not reply. Her splayed legs and glistening pink interior were answer enough. Nor did she resist as he pushed her legs further apart, and admired her. He spread her moist opening apart with his fingers, and slid a finger deeply into her. Each of Lanius’ fingers was the size of a normal man’s erection, and the Courier moaned at the sensation. Withdrawing it, all slick with her juices, he rubbed the pad of his finger on his lips, then leant forward to kiss her roughly. 

She arched up to kiss him back. Crushing his lips against hers, and penetrating her mouth with his curious tongue, he pushed two fingers inside her, all the way to the knuckle, and scissored the fingers forcefully against her soft interior walls, with the idea of stretching her, to allow access to his violently oversized cock, now desperate for entry. The Courier moaned, not entirely in pleasure. 

Legate, I want you, but not like this, she whispered.  
What? He reared up, anger flashing in his eyes.  
She sat up too, her knees astride his thighs, still gripping his fingers inside her, and reached up with both hands to caress his unkempt black hair and rugged face. 

Marcus Antonius was the most powerful General in all of the Roman Empire, she said.  
Lanius stared at her in surprise. Where was she going with this?  
His fame lasted two thousand years and still endures, the Courier said. He led a vast army, his charisma was legendary, he was a fearsome fighter and beloved by his people. He was a champion of champions, and every citizen in the Roman Empire would have given anything for his favour. He could bed any woman he chose.  
As she spoke the Courier’s thumbs sensuously stroked Lanius’ hard cheekbones and hungry lips.  
But when he met Cleopatra, she continued, the General met his match. She was the Queen of Egypt, an ancient and complex society, with vast lands along the fertile Nile, and she commanded a tremendous army of footsoldiers, and a fleet of warships. Any man in the Egypt would have died just for her to shine some tiny sliver of glory on him. She, like Marcus Antonius, could bed anyone she chose. 

Lanius stared intently at her. He waited, his fingers slowly exploring inside her hot wet cunt, for the Courier to come to the point.

The Courier leant forward and tenderly kissed Lanius’ neck, just under his jawline. He tensed and caught his breath. She raised her mouth an inch away from his skin and blew cool air lightly along his jaw till her lips hovered above his earlobe, then her warm tongue licked the underside of his earlobe, so gently he could only just feel it, which made the sensation almost overwhelmingly exciting. 

Marcus Antonius never left Cleopatra. So, my Lord Legate, she said, looking up into his eyes now. The question is, how did two people so steeped in glory, so accustomed to receiving pleasure, please one another? What could such demi-gods each have done to the other, to succeed in impressing someone so immune to being impressed?

Lanius pondered the Courier’s line of thought. You compare yourself to Cleopatra? his deep voice rumbled.  
No, Legate, she replied with modesty. But I want to please you as she pleased Marcus Antonius. As a champion deserves. As no woman has pleased you before. I desire to impress you. And, Legate – here she lifted his spare hand, kissed his palm, licked the very tip of her tongue up his middle finger to the tip then sucked his fingertip for a brief moment before nestling the side of her face into his broad, tough-skinned hand – I want you, to thrill _me_.

As she spoke, the Legate Lanius felt the hairs on his body electrify. He had to work to control his breathing. It was already obvious that this Courier was like no other woman he had ever known, and the thought of the secret pleasures she wished to perform with him made him tremble.

* * *

The Courier, while talking, was thinking madly. Trying to remember those conversations with Cass, where Cass had endlessly discussed her exploits in bed, while the Courier had cleaned her guns, sharpened her knives, repaired her armour, studied maps - and generally not been listening. What had Cass said about the way to make a man melt into a puddle? Something about “tantric sex”, and “prostate massage”. But what the hell was that? 

She tried her best but couldn’t remember any specifics of what Cass had said, other the unhelpful fact that so-called tantric sex had resulted in Cass being able to ride the crest of an orgasm for several hours, or so the cowgirl had implausibly claimed; and that the prostate was something somewhere in a man’s body accessible only via his anus. Not wildly helpful.

All she knew for sure was that it was possible, and in her current circumstances, it was necessary. Giving Lanius the best sex of his life was going to prolong her own life, and protect those of countless others in turn. Unfortunately, having never paid much attention to sex in the past, she had no precise knowledge of how to achieve this feat.

She was going to have to wing it.

The Legate was still looking at her hungrily, like he might be going to take a bite out of her.  
Impress me, then, Courier, he said lustfully. He withdrew his fingers from her interior and painted a moist line vertically across her lips with his wet index finger. His deep voice was almost a whisper, caressing her ears. Thrill me.

Lie on your back, and close your eyes, the Courier requested.  
Why?  
Don’t question. Just feel. Close the visual, and open your other senses. The scent of my skin and hair, the sound of my kisses. Sense my warmth and excitement, Legate.  
He lay down on his back, looking curious and a little sceptical, and after a moment, closed his eyes.  
Is this where you try to murder me? he asked.  
The Courier whispered close to his ear, The only death you will suffer is the death of yearning for any other woman but me, or wanting to be anywhere but inside me. She licked the tip of her tongue down his earlobe, ending with a tiny, perfect kiss, gratified to hear the shudder in his breath.

The Courier attended to every part of the Legate’s body, massaging his bulging muscles, drawing her fingernails down his torso, licking his salty skin in narrow tendrils from one sensitive zone to another, nibbling or kissing him in unexpected places, pressing her soft breasts to his face to almost smother him, then releasing to sit back astride him and slowly undulate her hips, stroking her wet slit along the shaft of his swollen manhood.

I need to fuck you, Courier, he breathed, almost untameable want in his voice.  
The Courier answered in a honeyed tone, You will, Legate. Patience. You will fuck me like no other ever has nor will. You will fill me till I cannot breathe except to whisper your name. You will penetrate me to my heart.

She moved down his body, surprising him by positioning her vulva on his left kneecap, moving in small circles, letting him feel her heat and moist arousal. From there she could lean down to his heavy testicles and lick them, then blow lightly on them, watching them tighten in response. She took one of them in her mouth, massaging it with her tongue. Lanius groaned and translucent pearls of precum emerged from his straining cock.

The Courier wanted to take his second testicle into her mouth, but together they were too enormous. Lanius reached down and stroked her hair, twining his fingers in its tangles. She let her hair tickle his cock, then moved up to circle the ridge of his glans with her tongue, careful not to lick up all the precum. She would need that where it was, for lubrication. It was going to be a mammoth effort to fit him inside her. 

While she licked and kissed his sensitive testicles and thickly-veined erection, she reached down and stimulated herself with her fingers. Once she felt her clitoris swelled to fullness, she pushed her fingers inside herself, first two, then three, not thrusting at all, purely stretching her entrance. She pushed deeply in with the three fingers, making her opening as wide as she could, and smoothing her wetness all around, particularly around the skin at the back of her vagina. This was going to be difficult.

When she was ready, she moved up his body again, using her wet fingers to hold his cock and give him a very slow, very gentle handjob, milking a little more precum from him while stimulating his right nipple with her mouth till the small brown bud was erect under her tongue. 

Lanius’ eyes opened and he looked at her for a moment, brow furrowed, then gave in to pleasure and closed them again.

The Courier passed her wetted fingers over his lips, to let him scent her. He parted his lips and gripped her index finger lightly between his teeth, twisting his head to pull her finger into his mouth and suck on it. The Courier felt her vulva throb in arousal at the sensation of his hot mouth sucking her. While he sucked, she slid her sex up his shaft, then manoeuvred her opening to the head of his gargantuan cock and pushed down, not relenting on the pressure till the swollen glans was inside her.

Lanius’ eyes opened again. He looked down, and watched as she slowly pushed her body down onto him, millimetre by millimetre, enclosing him in her heated interior, pushing, pushing, sometimes moaning with the sensation of immense penetration, until she almost fully encased him and sat up vertically, allowing her full weight to push him the last few millimetres inside her.

Now it was the Courier’s eyes that were closed. She felt everything, the warmth of the room, the smell of sex in the air, the sound of Lanius’ breathing, the heat of his hands on her hips, and most of all the sheer enormity of the throbbing part of his body now within her. 

Lanius’ tough-skinned hands moved slowly, feeling the soft skin of her belly, traveling up her ribs to her breasts, cupping them and relishing their weight, pinching the nipples gently as she had taught him, then up her neck, feeling its strength under his fingers, and up further, around the back to caress the nape of her neck, drawing a sigh from the Courier.

Thoroughly impaled, the Courier held her position, her interior adjusting to his phenomenal size. Lanius was running his fingers up the back of her skull, in amongst her hair. She kissed his black-haired, muscled forearms and concentrated on the sensation of him inside her, giving her body time to become accustomed to the unprecedented incursion. She felt him pulse inside her, and flexed her internal muscles in response, rewarded with a grunt of pleasure from the Legate.

Opening her eyes she saw that he was gazing at her, lips slightly parted and his chest rising and falling, his expression one of barely-controlled desire. He was trying very, very hard to repress the urge to take the lead, she realised. It was time to generate some friction. She rose up on her knees, which brought his cock halfway out of her, and pushed back down fully onto him. The Legate’s breathing quickened. She rose again, but this time he was too fast, bucking his hips up to slam into her from below. She let out a sharp cry, half pain, half pleasure, not caring if it was heard outside his tent.  
Wait – wait – y-yes – do that again, she begged.  
She kept her hips raised and he fucked her from underneath, hard and fast, his hips smacking her ass, the force making the Courier gasp in shock, but she didn’t relinquish the position, she held fast and took every brutal thrust, her breathing instinctively synchronising with his movements. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and the pain of her nails pressing into his hard muscle made the Legate fuck her even harder.

When from his grunting she sensed that he was close to coming, she suddenly hopped off, leaving his steaming cock penetrating only the air. He reached for her and she twisted out of his reach. He lunged, and she sprang backwards off the bed.  
You have to be quick to catch me, she teased.  
He grinned like a wild dog, seeing her game, and leapt from the bed swiping one arm towards her. She dodged and darted away, drawing a frustrated roar from the inflamed Legate. Instead of directly chasing her, he moved between her and the tentflap that led to the anteroom, restricting the game to the bedroom. The Courier danced around and laughed playfully, darting in and out of his reach. He waited casually until she got too bold, then grabbed her with astonishing speed, flipped her upside down in one movement and actually threw her across the room to land with a not-entirely-graceful bounce on the bed. She rolled as she landed, no injuries, but shocked nonetheless. 

He sprang on top of her, manoeuvred her face-down, lay on top of her and breathed in her ear. A stunning 180 kilos of solid muscle and bone pressed her down into the mattress. Strangely, the consistent pressure felt calming to her. Lanius’ warm lips touched her cheek, and she found herself craning her neck to reach his kisses with her mouth. 

He raised his weight and she made a half-hearted attempt at crawling away but he grabbed her by the waist, pulled her ass into the air and entered her from behind, forcing his full length in. The Courier gasped for air.

He fucked her there, behind her, making sure his pounding hurt her enough to satisfy him.  
Receiving him a second time, it was still hard to get to grips with how immense in scale he was. There was little time or space for her to work on her own orgasm. Her body focussed all its efforts on accommodating the giant. 

The courier tried, reaching one hand between her legs to find her clitoris swollen and wet. She circled it, her fingers periodically knocked out of the way by Lanius’ brutal thrusts. She returned them each time, feeling her vagina squeeze him tighter and tighter as she became more excited. Lanius felt it too, grunting and caressing her round buttocks as he mated her. He started ramming faster, close to release again. 

Come on my back, Legate, she begged, hoping to avoid the risk of impregnation for as long as it might be possible.  
No, was his gruff reply. I want to come in your ass.  
He made three more hard thrusts into her vagina, then pulled out and wetted her rear entrance with his cock. He applied pressure, slowly. No admittance.  
Up a bit, the Courier panted. This was frightening, but she held fast still.  
The Legate adjusted his angle as requested, applied more pressure, and slowly and inexorably began to slide inside her.

The long, low moan the Courier made when he was halfway inside her made the Legate’s blood rush wildly in his veins, but he forced himself to take her slowly, his thrust careful, even gentle. The groan she gave as his long cock harpooned her fully was unforgettable. 

The Courier wasn’t touching her clit now. She was just holding on, keeping it together while the Legate fucked her ass, stretching her second hole to a round O just as he had the first.

Lanius groaned too, in time with each long, slow thrust. The Courier soon heard his breathing quicken. Come inside me, she whispered.

He didn’t need to be told. The Legate gave one hard thrust, and cum gushed hotly from his pulsing erection, flooding her posterior.

He sat back on his haunches behind her and held her ass-cheeks open, revelling in the sight of the Courier’s dilated asshole unable to contain so much cum, spilling it down her thighs. 

The Legate’s cock was still hard. He turned the Courier over onto her back and lifted her legs up. I hope you’re ready to be fucked again, he said. I am, she answered gamely. But I would like you to touch my clitoris. Will you do that for me?  
Lanius considered it. I’ll try, he offered.  
Full of slippery white cum, her ass was easy to enter now. Lanius slid his cock inside her ready hole, and fucked her gently, not drawing more than halfway out of her between thrusts, while attending to her clitoris as requested. Bothering to pleasure a woman wasn’t something he had done in years, so it took a while to reacquaint himself with the small swollen nub, spreading her vulva and locating it, then wetting his thumb inside her and rubbing the nub.  
Don’t rub, circle, the Courier whispered.  
He circled.  
Touch only very lightly, she whispered.  
He circled slowly and gently, and she sighed with satisfaction.  
Lanius held his other hand to her hip bone, and watched the action. It was a beautiful sight. Her clitoris swelled at his touch, and behind it the dark pink opening of her vagina beckoned him. Behind that, his cock moved smoothly in and out of her secondary hole, wet with cum.  
You love being fucked in the ass, he said. Yes, she breathed.  
Do you want my fingers in your cunt? Yes.  
Lanius worked two fingers in, drawing a gasp of pleasure from the Courier.  
Don’t stop – touching me, she panted. The Legate lifted his hand from her hip and resumed stimulation of her feverish clitoris, luring her towards orgasm.

The Courier came undone in his hands, arching her back, crushing Lanius’ fingers and cock inside her and moaning his name.  
Keep touching – just a little – just a little, she pleaded. Lanius did as she willed him, and she rode an orgasm that didn’t seem to end, though it was probably only seconds, it felt like minutes. As she shook, Lanius came again inside her.

The Legate lay down to rest on top of her, his long cock still part-way inside her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and hugged him tightly.

You impressed me, Courier, he murmured in her ear. His body on hers felt protective, like a warm, heavy blanket. Presently she heard him snore softly.

It was a struggle to wriggle out from under him, especially as their sweating skin wanted to stick together. Lanius half-woke, and freed her, immediately falling asleep again.

The courier lay awake in the darkness, feeling her body readjust itself to its normal state. Her heartrate subsided, the sweat evaporated from her skin, her clitoris unswelled, her dilated holes remembered their elasticity and shrank to closed. However she couldn’t help but be uncomfortably aware that her body was overflowing with semen.

There was an area of the camp reserved for toileting, further down the hill. The courier got up quietly, and moved off the bed.  
Courier, Lanius said, his voice thick with sleep.  
Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, my lord?  
Where are you going?  
To the toilets, Legate. I will be back shortly.  
I will be waiting. His voice was stern.  
Yes, my lord, she said again, rummaging in her pack for a faded-to-grey t-shirt she had that was long enough to function as a short dress.  
Courier, the Legate’s deep voice said again.  
Yes?  
What happened in the end, at the battle? Marcus Antonius and Rome? Did he defeat Octavian?  
Ah, it is complex, Lord Lanius. Many surprises occurred. I will describe the events for you tomorrow.  
The Legate said nothing. As the Courier left the room, she heard him snore again.

In the anteroom that led to the tent equivalent of a front door, she found The Legate’s four guards, one asleep on a sofa, two lying on mats on the floor but awake and watching her, and one awake in a chair, leaning back in a relaxed manner, also watching her as she passed them by.

The Courier cringed a little; realising that these big men had unavoidably listened as she had had her wild sex with the Legate. But she didn’t show it, nor speak as she stepped out into the night.

* * *

The camp was lit in small glowing gold patches by braziers, but it was a moonless night and between the braziers the ground was too dark to see. The Courier walked slowly, so as not to trip on anything that might be lying on the ground in the blackness.

A few slaves still moved about, but the war drums that had been playing earlier in the evening had fallen silent, and now the loudest sound was the intermittent barking of dogs. Without electricity, and after such gruelling days, once the sun went down sleep was the focus for the Legionaries.

As the Courier began to make her way down the hill, she thought she noticed a figure watching her, from between two rows of tents, but when she turned to look at it, the figure was walking away.

The ablution area was surrounded on three sides with a low, roughly-constructed corrugated iron barrier so that if you crouched to defecate, people couldn’t see you. It smelt rank, being just a series of holes in the ground with metal footplates on each side to crouch on. But there was also a plentiful supply of fresh water in buckets, brought up from the lake by slaves. The Courier crouched, then went to the fresh water and, twisting and tucking her long t-shirt up into the neck of her t-shirt so it was more bra than dress, splashed a whole bucket of water on her pubic area, washing her vulva as best she could.

She nearly yelped in shock when another bucketload of cold water poured onto her buttocks from behind. She spun around, ready to fight, only to find the spy standing there, looking at her insouciantly, empty bucket in hand. Caesar’s favourite spy, the one who had escorted her here from Vegas. He put the bucket down and lifted up a full one. More? he asked, politely as though he was a bathroom attendant in the Ultra-Luxe.

This was awkward. She did want more, she wasn’t clean at the back yet, but cleaning one’s behind in front of a relative stranger, particularly one who gave off such ominous vibes, would be way up there in her list of most bizarre experiences.

Thank you, yes, she said, deciding to just go with it. She turned around and the spy poured water on her rump, pacing it well so there was plenty to wash with but it didn’t run out too soon. 

Is it done? the spy asked conversationally as he poured, his voice as smooth as silk.  
Is what done?  
Is he dead.

Pondering the significance of the spy’s words, the Courier finished cleaning herself before she turned around.  
You want him dead? she asked.  
I didn’t say that. But you do, don’t you, Courier? I saw your anger when the Legate’s history with women was described. You wanted to kill him. Then he arrived and you offered yourself to him. How else does this picture make sense?  
The Courier looked at the spy, his handsome features all but hidden in the darkness. I’ll leave that for you to wonder at, she said. But in answer to your question, no, he is very much alive.

The spy stepped close to her, and she steeled herself, but all he did was to place his hand on one side of her head and his face close to her ear on the other side.  
You must be so sore, he whispered.  
The Courier’s heart beat fast with adrenaline. His proximity felt very dangerous. She could feel the heat of his body radiating through the few inches of cool night air between them.  
I am quite alright, thank you, she replied quietly.  
You don’t need to lie, my beautiful Courier. I know you must be bloodied and bruised. Come to my tent, I have a healing salve I can apply to the afflicted area, I will mend your damage.  
_Followed by your healing cock?_ the Courier thought sardonically, but all she said was, No, thank you. I have no need of assistance.  
The spy’s voice in her ear was as soft, and as cool, as the breeze caressing her. I also have a collection of sharp blades and rare poisons, you may find something interesting.

She took his wrist, moved it away from her head, and stepped back, pulling her t-shirt back down to its dress form.  
Good night, she said with a respectful bow of her head, and walked away.  
Sweet dreams, the spy bade her from behind. 

The Courier headed up the hill, her back prickling with alarm the whole way.

When she reached the Legate’s tent all the guards were asleep but for the one who had been sitting in the chair, and who was now standing, pacing a little. He looked at her wordlessly as she came in. She nodded a greeting, and passed by into the room in which Lanius slept. 

She removed her damp t-shirt, and got into bed naked. The bed smelt of sex. Lanius rolled over and took her into his hot, heavy arms, snuggled his bearded face into her hair, and immediately went back to sleep. 

The Courier lay awake, listening to his breathing, consciously refusing to second-guess the various decisions she had made today, including declining the spy’s unexpected offer of lethal supplies. She forced herself instead to think of nothing, so that she might get some rest too. She would need all her wits about her tomorrow.


	7. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A favour can get you killed faster than a bullet   
> \- Carlito's Way

The Courier slept uneasily. She was walking over plains, dangerously hot. Sweat poured off her. She was carrying a heavy pack and wanted to put it down, but even when she unhooked the straps, it still stuck to her. She was alone as far as she could see in any direction, but felt a terrible sense of danger. She was flirting with death, and not just from the heat. Then she saw that next to her, a horse had appeared. A majestic percheron stallion, standing 19 hands high, weighing over a ton, it regarded her with dark liquid eyes. Not possible, she thought, stroking its long, silky black mane. Horses have been extinct for over 200 years. You cannot be here. The horse nuzzled her. But I am here, it replied.   
May I ride you? the Courier asked. Certainly, the stallion answered; but first I will ride you. It reared up, and the Courier gasped in terror as she saw its penis was erect, horrifyingly long and thick. No! she shrieked, turning to run away. Yes, the stallion said, beginning to mount her.  
The Courier woke up with a start, not knowing where she was, her heart beating wildly with fear. She was lying on her back in a dark room, the oil-lamp now burned down to just a small red glow. Her whole body was slick with sweat. Lanius was pressed up against her, deeply asleep, breath quiet now, with a heavy arm draped across her chest, his closeness overheating her. She lifted his arm away, moved her body a few inches further from him, and pulled the blanket aside, relishing the cool air on her skin. Just a dream, she told herself. A silly nightmare, foolish and obvious, nothing to be troubled about. There were worse things around here than a too-big penis. Calm down. Go back to sleep. 

Once her body temperature was sufficiently reduced, she pulled the blanket up to her waist, and fell asleep again, telling herself to wake again just before dawn.

A few hours later another nightmare came, this time it was Lanius himself, face hidden behind his mask, one huge, chapped hand around her throat, throttling her. She stared into the black eye-slits and tried to will him to stop, but she was mute, and he squeezed ever harder. She made a tremendous effort to move away from him, but couldn’t. She woke, horrified to find his hand was indeed on her throat.

She found there was nothing stopping her moving away, and that the Legate wasn’t even awake. His arm had been draped on her torso in his sleep, elbow at her waist and hand, far heavier than a normal man’s, weighing innocently on her neck. Not meaning to strangle her at all, she concluded. Calm down, again. Go back to sleep, again; and stop sleeping on your back, she chastised herself.

Her body clock was, as usual, reliable. Not long before dawn broke she woke again, to enact her plans. She had originally intended to wake him to the pleasure of being sucked; but since he had decided on so much anal sex last night, she wasn’t as keen on taking his manhood into her mouth. A handjob, done well, would suffice. She wet her fingers between her legs, then wet her palms with as much spit as she could summon, and began to very gently stroke his dozing cock. Even soft, it was large. She leant close and kissed his black-furred chest. She licked his nipples to stiffness, then kissed her way down the line of hair that led to the thick thatch of black hair at his pubic area, kissing there too. The Legate’s long cock slowly began to harden in her hands.

She glanced at his face and saw that he was awake, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. He said nothing, and she continued her sensual attentions, moving down a little to lick and suck his testicles, while massaging his cock. He was fully erect now, standing tall and proud, pointing directly upwards. Inadvertently the Courier flashed onto the frightening dray horse of her dream. She quickly banished the thought, telling herself not to be so perturbed. Lanius was only a man. A giant, admittedly, but a human giant. She leant up and kissed his belly button to remind herself. 

The head of the Legate’s huge erection was glistening now, and the Courier smoothed her thumbs over it, slick with precum, rubbing faster now, building to a climax.   
Come for me, Lanius, she enticed him.

Lanius grasped her under the arms in two giant hands and manoeuvered her firmly over and down onto her back at his side. There was no question of resisting. He moved on top of her, kneeling astride her chest. He commanded in a low drawl, Hold those tits together. She complied, pressing them up against each other. The Legate drove his erection through between them. Grunting with pleasure, he fucked her breasts. Soon he said urgently, Open your mouth.   
Cum surged from his swollen cock, spilling over her lips, jaw and neck. The Courier swallowed some of the sweet fluid. He tasted good. She licked her lips, and swallowed more, thinking, I could get used to this. If I get the opportunity to.

The Legate got out of bed, stretched vastly, and set about pulling on his armour.   
Will you take a dawn swim with me, Courier, he invited.   
I would love to, she answered, rolling out of bed and wiping the rapidly-drying cum off her chin and neck with a vaguely-cleanish side of her used underwear from yesterday. That didn’t matter, she would get a chance to wash properly in the lake. She shrugged into her long t-shirt, not bothering with a bra.

Lanius dressed fully, including masked helmet and his infamous 5-foot long sword. His appearance was a significant part of his mythos, and in public the helmet and sword went everywhere with him. His sword even had a title, the Blade of the East. 

When he was ready they left the room. 

The Legate’s guards were still in the anteroom, two awake, two asleep. The guard she had seen doing the first watch last night was one of the sleepers, prone on the floor, his head resting on one crooked arm.

The conscious guards stood to attention and saluted as the Legate entered. Lanius said something quietly in Latin to them as he passed through, receiving respectfully bowed heads in return.

Slaves were already busy, silently moving around the camp, preparing for the day to arrive. The Courier and the Legate walked down to the lake together. The sun was not yet at the horizon. A glowing pink light shone up from where it would soon rise. On the opposite side of the sky, the planet Venus and a couple of other bright stars were still visible.

Lanius didn’t speak, but she caught him looking down sideways at her as they walked. Was that affection?

The lake was flat and peaceful. Lanius stunned the Courier by taking her hand as they skirted the rocky shore, approaching the secluded spot where they had swum yesterday. Neither of them had soft hands, but the Legate’s, being so large, had callouses of a size to match. All of that two-handed sword-swinging, the Courier supposed. His grip felt protective, not uncomfortably tight as she might have expected, instead secure.

I don’t need your protection, though, the Courier mused. I just need you not to murder me.

At the private spot, out of sight of anyone but themselves, Lanius laid down his sword and removed his helmet. He reached for the Courier, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. His kiss smelt like sex and felt like love. His warm lips felt so right on hers. She drank in his kisses, and allowed him to strip her as they kissed. 

She reciprocated, unbuckling and lifting away his armour plating, kissing each piece of skin revealed. 

As soon as he was naked she ran into the lake, splashing down into the cold water and gasping at the shock on her warm skin. The Legate followed her and they played, splashing each other and playing chase. When he caught her and held her close, she kissed him again. He kissed so well. Roughly, but still romantic in his way. 

The Legate’s cock grew hard, and from the way he moved his hands down to her hips and under her buttocks, it was very clear that he was intending to penetrate her again. She took his cock and balls in her hands and masturbated him under the water as they kissed. He returned the favour, pushing a thick finger into her vagina, and a second into her rectum.

Soon, fingering wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He lifted her higher, to press his cock to her opening from underneath. It was impossible, as the lake water was washing away their natural lubrication. He pushed her down onto him, but it was too tight and there was no give. Last night’s elastic endeavours had left no lasting effect  
Perhaps better out of the water, my lord, she suggested, indicating the shallows. 

Lanius set her down and they moved to shallower, mid-thigh-level water, where he lifted her up for more heavy kissing, and with her legs clasped around his muscular waist and his inquisitive tongue in her mouth she quickly felt herself becoming moist inside. Eventually, with some coaxing, her body accepted him and she slid gradually down around his thick shaft, exhaling in bliss as she felt him fill her.

Hilted inside her, Lanius waded back into the lake, till cool water lapped at their shoulders. There was little the Courier could do but cling to him as he slowly fucked her. 

Maybe it was the sensation of the water swishing around her clitoris, maybe she was growing fond of him, but the feeling he was causing in her was exhilarating and this time she did reach orgasm, sighing into his mouth and trembling all over. Lanius followed her moments later, his last few thrusts hard and deep.

* * *

Lanius was revelling in sensation too. He didn’t pull his softening cock out of her but remained warm inside, still kissing her mouth. The Courier kissed beautifully. She was clearly experienced, and to his pleased surprise she wanted him intensely, or so it felt. She was nothing remotely like the timid, underaged girls Caesar insisted on procuring for his Legate. The fact that Caesar had tried to claim that she was his gift was laughable, and, remembering it, Lanius actually laughed out loud, breaking the kiss.

The Courier cocked her head to one side, a crooked smile on her face. My lord? she asked.  
You are your own woman, Courier, the Legate said.  
I am that, she smiled back, her eyes still querying.  
Do I satisfy you? he asked.  
Her lashes lowered, and she murmured warmly, Yesss. As long as I am with you, I will never have need of another.  
 _I feel similarly_ , the Legate thought. But he didn’t say anything – it wasn’t wise to let a woman feel too confident.

The played some more in the shallows, skipping stones over the flat surface of the lake.

There was a rock protruding from the surface of the lake, about 80 yards out from the shore. The surface of the rock was flat-ish, and someone had built a small cairn of stones on top of it, a monument to the unknown.

Lanius suggested a race to the rock, to which the Courier agreed. He wanted to show her his prowess at swimming. He felt an urge to show off to her in every way he could, to impress her with his many skills.

I will give you a head start, he declared, and the Courier set off, swimming breaststroke which was not fast but allowed her to see where she was going. After a short pause Lanius launched himself underwater, coming up after 5 yards to surge ahead using a powerful - but splashy - overarm stroke. He quickly passed the Courier, and reached the rock when she was not much more than halfway there. The rock was shaped almost like a flat-topped spire, underwater its sides dropped steeply to the lake floor far down. He climbed up onto the rock, waited for her to watch him, then dove mightily into the water, causing a small tidal wave to wash over her.

* * *

By the time she reached the rock he was back on top of it, shaking water from his shaggy black hair. The Courier clambered up next to him, careful not to disturb the stone cairn. It was rare to encounter any effort at art in the wasteland, and she appreciated every one of the few instances she ran across.

Lanius stroked the water out of her eyes for her. The view from the rock was beautiful. Early morning light dappled the water. Behind the Legate, a few yards away, she saw small bubbles rising to the water’s surface and immediately adrenaline flooded into her bloodstream.

Lakelurk! she shouted, just too late as Lanius was jumping backwards off the rock holding his knees and grinning at her. Unwittingly divebombing lakelurks.

She couldn’t see how many of them there were, but if there was more than one then the Legate was in serious trouble. The courier covered her ears, knowing the first attack was always sonic, and a second later she heard the piercing blast, so high pitched it was barely audible, but with uncovered ears, pitched exactly to stun a human to insensibility.

It didn’t even occur to her not to try to save him. The Courier trusted her instincts, and her instant action was to grab a hand-sized rock from the cairn and leap into the water after the Legate. When she reached him, moments later, he was already in a dire situation – there were two lakelurks, and they were female ones, much larger and, like lions, more dangerous hunters than the males.

They were trying to drag Lanius down, to drown him. He was still alert and fighting hard but they were getting him deeper and deeper. The Courier took a breath and swam down, using the sharp edge of the rock in her hand to smash at one of the monsters’ face. She felt a pressure in her calf and knew it was probably a claw tearing at her, but the cold water inhibited any pain and she kept smashing until the face of the creature caved in and it released its grip on Lanius and fell away, blinded and stunned.

She set in on the second lakelurk’s face, her lungs burning. Its carapace started to crack, and another blow would crush it, but she couldn’t manage one more, the need for oxygen was too desperate. She swam to the surface, dragging Lanius by the hand behind her, and managed to get her mouth above the water for one second, just enough to get a breath in before the lakelurk made one last downward tug on the leg of its prey, pulling Lanius’ hand out of hers. She dove back down but the Legate was drowning now and thrashing. His heel smashed against the monster’s face, breaking it where she had weakened it, and the creature tumbled backwards as the first one had, a trail of goo flowing from its crushed face. 

Lanius flailed at the Courier, his fingers grasping and digging into her hips, and she swam as hard as she could to the surface, towing him up. The rock pinnacle was near and she pulled him to it and helped him crawl onto its surface where he coughed up so much water from his lungs she was amazed he was still conscious.

After a while there was no more water to expel and the Legate recovered enough to sit up. At this point the Courier, who had been watching the water to make sure no further creature attacks were on the way, lay down on the rock and curled up as though in pain. The deep wound in her leg bled freely and she lay with that side up so the legate could see it. 

She felt him press his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. Are you alright, Courier? he asked.  
I’m not sure, she whispered. I took a blow to the back of the head. I feel dizzy, and my neck hurts.  
The Legate explored her skull with gentle fingertips. No cracks, he said. You have a concussion.

He would have a concussion himself, after the sonic blast, but she didn’t mention it. Instead she said weakly, I’m not certain I can make it back to shore.  
The Legate’s voice was reassuring. You will. I’ll help you, Courier.  
We may be attacked again. _We_.  
I will protect you, the Legate promised.  
They waited for half an hour or so, resting in the warm sun, watching for bubbles and peering down into the deep to see if anything had been attracted by the thrashing and blood. Small fish feasted on the sunken carcasses of the lakelurks, but nothing large arrived.   
Then they swam slowly back to shore, the Courier kicking with only one leg, Lanius swimming with one arm and pulling her along with the other.

She let him “rescue” her, and carry her up onto the stony beach. The water had washed away the clotting on her leg wound and bright red blood flowed down to her foot and dripped from her toes. Lanius laid her down gently, and they rested again, drip-drying fast in the dry Mojave air. The Courier used her t-shirt to press to her gored calf. When Lanius was dry he dressed and helped her to put the long t-shirt on. One side was soaked with blood. Then, without asking, he lifted her up and carried her in both arms, newlywed-style, around the water’s edge, back into the camp, and up the hill to his tent. Her bloodied and bedraggled look caused everyone they passed to stop and stare, legionary and slave alike.

As they approached his tent the two of Lenius’ guards who were lounging outside rushed to their aid. What happened? they asked.   
Lakelurks, the Legate replied.  
The Legate saved me, the Courier said, her voice weak and shaky.  
By Mars, that gouge-wound looks bad, one of the guards said. I’ll get a medic. 

Lanius laid her down in his bed, not caring about bloodstaining. Three of his men stood around, staring down at her with concerned faces. The Courier said to Lanius, Thank you, my lord, you saved my life. She let a tear run down her face, and it was real, she couldn’t fake tears. It was a tear of relief, of disaster narrowly – hopefully – averted.

Though she might not have made it safely back to shore without his help, she had saved his life first and they both knew it; and appearances were important. For his pride, and reputation, and her consequent protection, the story needed to reflect that the knight had rescued the princess by slaying dragons; and she would swear to it if anyone asked.


	8. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part V

The rest of the day passed quietly. A medic arrived, retrieved by one of Lanius’ guards. Her name was Siri and she had beautiful, even features and a soothing voice that put everyone at their ease, as it was designed to do. Siri was noticeably more competent than most medics the Courier had come across. She inspected the injury, removed a small piece of debris, cleaned the wound, packed it with some healing powder and bandaged it efficiently.  
I trained to be a doctor, she replied when the Courier admired her skills. I didn’t finish, the Legion overran my village three years ago and that was the end of it. Her voice was neutral, with no trace of the sorrow that should accompany such a statement in the context in which it was uttered. She was dressed in slave rags, and like all slaves here, bore signs of maltreatment.  
I suppose you would have studied female reproductive health at medical school, the Courier said conversationally.  
Yes.  
And you would have had classes in medical ethics, the Courier rambled.  
Ye-es, Siri said, catching the Courier’s drift.  
It is good to have someone like you at the camp.  
Thank you, mistress. Siri kept her eyes low.  
Check her skull; she took a blow to the head, said the Legate, standing over them.

The Courier hadn’t taken a significant blow to the head, that had been an exaggeration she made up for Lanius’ benefit to help him feel like he was saving her, but she allowed Siri to check her skull and the movements of her neck, feigning tenderness at the back of her head and a slightly sore neck. Siri asked if she had double vision or if her eyes were sensitive to light, the Courier said no.  
You are alright, Siri said, getting up to leave. Try to rest for the remainder of the day.

Siri walked tall and elegantly, bowed to Lanius, and nodded politely to each of his guards on the way out. Gracious in defeat, the Courier thought. That must take a sturdy heart. The courier watched her leave, then turned to Lanius.  
Forgive me for taking so much attention, my lord Lanius, she said, bowing her head in humility. And you, sire, are you well?  
Perfectly well, no damage at all, her master averred, ignoring the scrapes all over him, hidden under his armour.

The Legate went out to meet with the Legion’s other military leaders, strategize, and train. His guards went with him and the Courier was left alone. She spent the rest of the day in his tent, resting, and appreciating the very fact of being alive. War drums resonated throughout the camp, a fearsome rhythm, devised to cause alarm in the enemy as much as to help the troops train and march.

Lanius had no books, so she occupied herself thinking, remembering all the epic sagas and courtly romances she had read growing up. It was strange how few of them seemed inspiring in modern times, yet they must have inspired people for thousands of years, crossing cultures and languages. Troilus and Criseyde, what a dire story. No use in her current situation. Romeo and Juliet, more suitable though the ending was unhelpful. Beowulf, heroic, but without romance.

She thought about taking a walk to find Siri and whisper about contraception options. Tomorrow would be better, though. Important to maintain the illusion of injury by lakelurk, today.

In the late afternoon two things happened. Firstly, a woman was escorted in by a legionary and placed in the bedroom, kneeling in front of the bed facing the door, her wrists bound behind her back. ‘Woman’ and ‘escorted’ are the wrong words. Girl, and dragged.

The legionary dumped her there, threatened her with torture and death if she moved an inch, and left. The girl wore a red tunic, different to the usual slave rags, made of finer cloth. Her light hair was almost waistlength, not shaved to the skull like all the other slaves. She sobbed quietly where she knelt on the floor. 

Behind her, on the bed, the Courier gazed at the back of her head. If she wasn’t mistaken, this was a tribute. Meaning, presumably, Caesar wasn’t aware that the Courier was still alive. 

The Courier got out of bed and went to her pack where she dug around and found a clean-ish checked shirt, and some never-washed cut-off jeans to put on. The girl watched her sideways, not even daring to turn her head. The Courier knelt on the floor three feet in front of the girl, mirroring her pose but with her hands flat on her thighs. The girl’s eyes flickered between the Courier and the floor between them.  
What’s your name? the Courier asked.  
Beale, the girl whispered.  
How old are you?  
Six-sixteen.  
Have you come a long way?  
Three days and -and nights.  
You were abducted?  
The answer was a shaky nod.  
Were you told why you are here?  
The girl nodded again, and looked up, big tears rolling from her eyes.

The Courier took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. There was nothing comforting she could say to this girl. There was a chance she could protect her, but not as strong as the chance that she could not. No assurances could be made. Instead, she got up and gently dried the girl’s face with a crumpled handkerchief from her jeans pocket, then poured a glass of water, holding it to the girl’s lips and helping her drink it. Wondering if she should remove the bindings on the girl’s wrists.

Did he do that to you? the girl asked after swallowing some water. Her tears had stopped falling but she couldn’t stop jerkily sniffing.  
What? Oh this? Blood had soaked through the heavy bandaging on her calf, and dried to a dark stain. No, that was caused by a run-in with some wildlife outside the camp.  
Are you his wife?  
No. I’m a concubine, like you, Beale.  
The girl pondered that for a while, then whispered, Does he hurt you?  
Not yet, the Courier shrugged.  
How are you still alive?  
That was harder to answer. Well… I haven’t been here very long. He may not need you, while he still has me. _What would happen to her if the Legate did not have use for her?_ the Courier wondered. _Nothing good. But she may keep her life, at least._

She decided not to release the girl’s bindings. She would display no particular interest in the girl, and do what she could to protect her covertly.

Beale sniffed miserably. What does he make you do? she asked.  
He hasn’t made me do anything, so far. I have a lot of sex with him, but it’s voluntary.  
Beale looked dumbfounded at that.  
Is he - nice to you?  
Hmm. No, I wouldn’t use the word ‘nice’. No. He’s a general in the Legion, I don’t think any of these guys know the meaning of nice. But so far he has been fair to me. And he rescued me from lakelurks this morning. The Courier indicated her bandages. There’s no way I would have made it back to shore without him. He saved my life. _In a manner of speaking._

Miss Courier? a shy female voice called from the anteroom.  
It was a slave, no surprises there, a small and very anxious one, clearly reluctant to be anywhere near Lanius’ tent let alone standing in its doorway.  
Yes?  
Miss Courier, Siri asked for you to visit her in the medical tent, she wishes to change your bandage? The slave wrung her hands as she spoke, and took a tentative step back, desperate to be dismissed.  
Show me the way to the medical tent, please, the Courier requested. 

They set off together. The sun was low in the sky. The wound on the Courier’s calf was a little sore to walk with, but not much and it didn’t slow her down.  
There, the slave said, pointing to a tent set slightly apart from others. Siri stood behind a trestle table in front of it, hunched over, sewing up a gash in a young legionary’s forearm. With what looked like a normal needle and thread. The Courier shuddered slightly.

You have no curved needles or medical thread? she asked Siri when she got close. The slave who had escorted her had already melted away.  
Siri didn’t look up from her work. No; if you find any, I would sure appreciate it, she said grimly. Please, go into my tent and wait for me there. I’ll be able to change your bandages as soon as I’m done with this.

The Courier entered the tent through the closed tentflaps. It was dark and hot inside. There were camp-stretchers on either side of the room, another small table in between them, and a few small boxes of supplies at the back. On one of the stretchers a man lounged, propped up on one elbow, watching her with vivid blue eyes. The spy, again.

The Courier sat on the free stretcher. Fancy meeting you here, she said flatly.  
What a coincidence, he rejoined, voice amused.  
I was wondering why Siri didn’t come to see me herself.  
Now you know.  
Mm-hm. What do you want.  
Just to tell you that I know what your game is, now, Courier.  
I have no game.  
Ha ha. Yes, you do.  
Ok. You know what my game is. Congratulations on figuring it out.  
The spy’s expression hardened a little. Try not to be facetious, Courier. It’s not a quality we value in our slaves. He drew the last word out so it sounded like slayyyves.  
The Courier turned towards the entryway. You nearly done, there, Siri? she called.  
There was no answer.  
She’s done when I’m done, the spy said softly. I hear you have an interest in, what was it... reproductive health?  
Memo to self: there is no privacy in this camp, the Courier said aloud.  
Correct, and you should have known that. So, you want to make cute little babies with the Legate. That’s your plan, isn’t it Courier? Instead of seizing power for yourself, you’ll take it for your offspring by lineage. You want to be Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of kings. The spy looked smug at having deduced this.  
Which king was she the mother of?  
She had ten children, my ignorant Courier, amongst which were five monarchs. Including Richard the Lionheart.  
You sure know your ancient history, spy-boy, the Courier said, just to see if she could rile him.  
Whereas you know nothing, he spat back. 

They stared aggressively at each other. _Don’t engage,_ the Courier told herself. _He wants to figure you out, because he can’t bear the idea of someone he doesn’t understand. But don’t correct his misapprehension, as it would be not be ideal if the Legate found out you were looking for contraception._

The spy was staring at her with undisguised anger. Too much so for the situation at hand – what was his obsession with her? Was it driving him mad, not knowing why she had volunteered to be tribute for the Legate? Or was he simply seething with jealousy that she had turned him down in Vegas, only to offer herself freely to his rival the very next day. Or, perhaps he just didn’t like being called spy-boy and was frustrated by having no authority to harm the Legate’s property.

The Courier stood up and walked out of the tent, relieved to breathe the fresher, if slightly smoky, air outside. Siri had finished sewing up her patient, and looked guiltily at the Courier.  
Where are the bandages, the Courier said curtly so as to brook no resistance. I’ll do it myself.  
Siri mutely indicated a box under her table.  
The spy had still not emerged from the tent when the Courier nodded a farewell to Siri and left with a thick roll of bandage and a twist of healing powder. He is probably even more afraid of Lanius than I am, the Courier thought, laughing inwardly as she walked back through the camp.

* * *

Two of Lanius’ guards were stationed outside his tent when she returned, and Lanius was in the anteroom, sprawled on the sofa, talking to his other two men. His helmet was off and rested on the sofa next to him. All eyes watched as she arrived.  
Where have you been, the Legate asked.  
Medical tent, getting supplies, she answered. The Legate’s eyes took in the bandages and powder in her hands.  
Do I need to put a guard on you?  
The Courier said nothing. Lanius’ eyes crinkled, and then he laughed loudly. His men laughed with him. The Courier quirked one eyebrow.  
Come here, the giant said, opening his arms wide. She went to him, and he clasped her around the hips with one arm and pulled up her shirt to sniff her midriff. She must have passed the sniff test because he kissed her belly and pushed her towards the bedroom. Get yourself ready for me, he said gruffly.  
In the bedroom, Beale was gone. The Courier popped her head back into the anteroom.  
There was a slave here, where is she?  
Returned to sender, the Legate replied. His men laughed again.

The Courier closed the door and thought. The news indicated two things, that the Legate planned to keep his current concubine at least another day, a good result; and that Beale had gone to Caesar. The latter, not so great a result. 

You cannot keep on taking responsibility for every waif that crosses your path, the Courier told herself. But she couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of unease. People had to grow up fast in the wasteland, but Beale had seemed not much more than a kid. A very scared kid, in the hands of a psychopath.

Slowly taking her clothes off, the Courier thought back to when she herself had been 16 years old. She was already working as a Crimson Caravan guard, carrying a rifle and a hipflask. She’d had a steady boyfriend, one of the other guards. She’d been pretty tough at 16. Not a tenth as tough as she was these days, but enough to look after herself. Beale was not like that. She might be in the future, if she got to live long enough, but the future was meaningless if she didn’t survive the right now.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Lanius came in behind her.  
On the bed, he said, pushing her with one finger. She finished taking off her clothes and lay down on her back. Lanius laid down his mask, sword and breastplate, but didn’t strip fully.  
I have something for you, he said. From a small pocket in his tunic he pulled a tiny emblem, which glittered yellow in the lamplight. It was a metal replica of his face mask, complete with horns and beard but without the headpiece, altogether less than an inch wide. The left horn was even broken, just as it was on his real mask.  
I had this made of gold for you, he said, watching the Courier to see her reaction.  
May I see it, she asked. He passed it to her. It was indeed gold, heavy and beautifully crafted. There was a ring at the back, too small to fit on any of her fingers; and a fine gold chain half an inch or so long attached the ring to the mask.  
It is extremely beautiful. Is it an earring?  
No. It is a warning sign. Lie back.

A quarter of an hour and a great deal of discomfort later, the Courier had a pierced labia, directly above her clitoris.

* * *

Afterwards, they went to the mess tent and ate some supper together with Lanius’ guards, in a private partitioned section for officers of high rank. The Courier tried to get used to the new sensation, Lanius’ Mark, at her crotch. She found she could walk with it, that was something. The ring was sealed, the only way she could take it off would be with wire cutters. She didn’t want to take it off, however. Whilst in Legion hands it was a comparative luxury to be categorised as off-limits to all but one man. And if a day came when she was no longer in Legion hands, well, wire cutters could be obtained.

She suggested over supper, while his guards were busy laughing uproariously with each other about some conversation in Latin, and not listening to her, that Lanius have his scrotum pierced with an image of her in her recon headgear and biker goggles.  
To ward away any wanton profligettes who might try to have at you, my darling, she whispered in his ear. He just laughed, his eyes crinkling affectionately.  
I suppose I should be grateful that Vulpes Inculta didn’t try to affix Caesar’s Mark to me this way when he approached me in Vegas, she joked.  
At the mention of the spy, Lanius’ smile vanished. Did he touch you?  
No, and I would have punched him in the throat if he had.  
Lanius stared into her eyes, searching.  
The Courier gazed back.  
He nodded slowly, still watching her eyes, then leaned down to breathe in her ear, I know you must have had other men before me, Courier, but I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if you commune with another man from this point on.  
It was the Courier’s turn to nod. She had no intention of doing so, and if a situation outside her control arose, well, the Legate’s Mark should take care of that. Still, the threat hung in the air like the ominous rumble and flash of a distant thunderstorm. She needed to make sure that the spy didn’t succeed in ambushing her again.

After the meal, they returned to Lanius’ tent, where the guards began a game of cards and invited the couple to join them. Lanius declined and retired early to bed, seeming a little tired. 

He sat on the end of the bed to remove his boots. The Courier sat behind him and pressed her fingers and the heels of her palms into the muscles of his wide shoulders, carefully avoiding the scratched and bruised areas.

The Legate let out a deep sigh. That feels good. Keep doing it.  
Lie down, my lord Lanius, on your front. I’ll help you relax.  
The Legate lay down and the Courier straddled his rump and pressed and pummelled his back the way her friend Arcade had taught her how. A muscle-relaxing massage, not intended to be sensual, but easily made so.

She hoped he might fall asleep but he stubbornly kept his eyes open.  
Courier…  
Mm?  
The story… of Marcus Antonius… what happened next? At the battle?  
Well, though Antonius had over 100 ships, Octavian had twice as many. But Antonius’ ships were larger and stronger so he had a chance. Just before the battle, however, one of Antonius’ generals defected to Octavian and took with him all of Antonius’ battle plans –  
The traitor! Lanius shouted in outrage. Almost immediately two of Lanius’s guards burst into the bedroom with weapons drawn, shouting in Latin. Lanius spoke calmly to them and they retreated.

The Courier hesitated, not sure if she should continue. Lanius seemed to be taking this part of the story to heart, and unfortunately it didn’t end well for its hero.  
Continue, Courier. Tell me - what did Marcus Antonius look like, as a man?  
It was said that he was descended from Hercules. He was tremendously strong and powerful, as well as charismatic. He was described as having a good beard, a wide forehead, a straight nose, he wore his tunic in a distinctive style, and he always carried a broadsword. But like anyone, he was not without fault. One of his mistakes was to assume that all of his troops were as strong as he was. Over the course of his career he lost many, many thousands of men in marching them too hard, in harsh conditions. He once lost the lives of 8,000 of his men in a single march through heavy snow.  
By Mars!  
Indeed.

The Courier talked on, relating the rest of the story in briefer terms than she had intended to. Before the Legate’s eyes closed, she segued to the story of another cross-faction romance, that of Romeo and Juliet. Romeo was just sneaking kisses with Juliet at the ball, when Lanius’ eyes closed and she heard him snore softly.

She dimmed the lamp, crept back into bed and pulled the blanket up. All things considered, the plan was a success so far, the Courier reflected. Two nights down, and only a couple of unexpected puncture wounds suffered, one of which was entirely accidental, the other, well, at least it came with a gift of gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS Yep I'm aware, of course Wastelanders would be unlikely to know those historical or literary references that the Courier and Vulpes seem to magically know. But what the hell, the beauty of writing wild fanfics is that you can have characters know whatever obscure pieces of information you want them to. Let's just assume they found some unburnt books and read them ;)    
> 


	9. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong, there will be several more parts to this.   
>  PS Why do I write such silly stuff? I don't know. Must be cathartic ;)    
>  PPS Thank you readers, as ever.

The next morning she enacted her plan to wake Lanius with her warm mouth hungrily attending to his manhood. He woke and watched her, his deep voice purring _mmm_ as she satisfied him.

Once sated, they arose. Lanius spent time polishing his helmet and armour before he fastened them on. He then polished his sword. Fully attired and gleaming he stepped out into the early morning sunshine. Slaves scurried away, recruits’ jaws went slack in awe, veteran legionaries saluted. The sight of the Legate was ever magnificent.

The courier, not previously informed of the plans of the day, nor any day, discovered that the morning had been designated for a show. Gladiator fights in the arena. After a small breakfast of a pit-roasted root vegetable, very coarse and chewy, she was escorted to the arena by Lanius’ guards. The taller and more senior two guards, who also seemed to be closest to Lanius in friendship, were named Titus and Lucius. Not to be confused with Caesar’s chief guard, also named Lucius. Titus was a handsome-faced man with dark hair cut close to shaved. He was sometimes jovial in aspect. Lucius was ginger-haired, terse, and his expression was always deadly serious. Walking between them, and behind Lanius, the Courier was dwarfed.

Seating had been arranged on a six-foot high podium at the northern end of the arena. Caesar’s throne had been moved to the podium, and Caesar already lounged on it, his Lucius, a short but heavyset bearded man, standing to Caesar’s right with his feet planted apart and his hands behind his back; the creepy spy standing to Caesar’s left, five other praetorian guards standing to attention behind them.

The circumference of the arena quickly filled up with battle-hardened legionaries. All around expect for in front of the podium, which remained clear. The Courier stood between Lanius’ guards and watched as two slaves were announced, and brought out to fight, armed with machetes. It was cruel and brutal and she hated watching it, but out of respect to the doomed men, didn’t avert her eyes. When one collapsed in a bloodied heap and didn’t get up, she said a sorrowful requiem for him in her head. The slave who remained on his feet was led away, staring at the ground in front of him, victorious but not looking it.

More slaves came out, more pitiable brutality ensued. The legionaries cheered and Caesar smiled.

Then there was a different announcement, and Lanius himself stepped forward, striding into the arena to stand in the centre and raise his sword in the air, provoking tumultuous applause from the audience. 

He bellowed a few lines in Latin, the meaning of which the Courier could not make out, but it prompted even wilder fervour from the surrounding legionaries.

Caesar stood up and quieted the crowd, then shouted something in Latin. Lanius knelt to him, head bowed, holding his sword plunged vertically into the dirt in front of him like a crusader bowing before god. A crusader… the Courier suddenly remembered the spy mentioning Eleanor of Aquitaine last night. A crusader. Were these men not so much romans as crusaders, bringing their brand of pseudo-ethical mania to the barbarian hordes of the wasteland, ‘cleansing’ and ‘purifying’ the lands and peoples?

These thoughts were interrupted as the gates opened and Lanius’ opponent was led out in heavy chains. The arena fell quiet, all eyes on the shocking apparition. The opponent was not a man. It was a type of supermutant called a Nightkin, blue-skinned and gigantically built. All of a sudden it was Lanius who was dwarfed. The Nightkin’s weapon, carried separately by a legionary, was a rebar club, a lethal weapon if it scored a direct hit on a normal human being. Was Lanius a normal human being? They would soon find out. Lanius stood and readied himself as the chains were removed from the Nightkin by frightened looking slaves. As the last chain was removed the Nightkin swept its free hand and swatted a slave several feet through the air, as though not even trying. It wasn’t looking at the slave. Its eyes were fixed on Lanius. 

The Courier watched, wondering if the Nightkin was staring at Lanius out of aggression or out of an understanding that Lanius was the sole threat here. The Nightkin moved sideways, and it and Lanius started to circle each other. Though as heavy as a brahmin it moved more like a nightstalker, all agility and situational awareness. The Courier wondered whether it was a male or female. It was almost impossible to tell with any variety of supermutant. The height, muscles, voices and behaviour were the same. To ascertain sex you had to actually see what was between their legs, usually only possible after they were dead because, like their human progenitors and unlike brahmins or nightstalkers, they all had in common a scrupulous modesty about covering their genitalia. 

_Go, Nightkin_ , the Courier silently urged. Not that she wanted Lanius dead as such, but it would serve a certain purpose if it happened, and it would admittedly be funny to see Caesar’s face too. At the very least she wanted the Nightkin to have the last dignity of putting up a good fight. 

The Nightkin could not be goaded into attacking, so Lanius made a swing, not really trying to hit, more to get the Nightkin off-balance. It worked and Lanius swung again, closer, but the Nightkin swung too and their weapons clashed with a ringing clang. Lanius feinted to one side, made a low jab with his sword and drew blood from below the Nightkin’s ribs.

The duel went on; to the joy of the audience, but not the Courier who, the longer it went on, wished more and more that it would end. Lanius was certainly winning, but it took a long time to chop a Nightkin down. Hunks of bloody flesh lay about the arena, the supermutant was drenched in blood, but it was still on its feet, still swinging. The Courier closed her eyes and sent a mental message to Lanius. _End this. Sever its head, and let it rest._

There was a roar, and she opened her eyes. The Nightkin’s head rolled on the ground, and the body fell slowly sideways, blue fingers finally releasing the twisted iron handle of the rebar club. The Courier said a silent eulogy for the Nightkin, as she had for all the slain combatants.

Lanius turned not to Caesar, but to the Courier, raising both arms to her. His mask and armour was spattered with blood, creating a grisly effect. As Lanius turned to salute Caesar, the Courier glanced at Caesar and saw him scowling very sourly at her. _Not good_. She had the impression that Lanius, by dint of his attention, had just got her into very big trouble.

Caesar stood and delivered some accolades to his Legate, who knelt again while Caesar spoke, then walked around the arena soaking up the ferocious admiration of the legion men. 

Then Caesar personally announced, using English, that there would be a special surprise, a bonus fight not advertised, a treat for his well-deserving men. He changed to Latin and said a few more lines, all of it well-received by the audience.

_It’s going to be me versus Lanius_ , the Courier thought. And indeed, she was pushed forward, and the legionary who seemed to be in charge of the arena handed her a rusty-but-serviceable machete. 

Lanius sheathed his sword on his back and walked towards her. When he reached her he grasped her torso with two hands, lifted her up into the air and pressed his masked face to her crotch, as though kissing her venus mons, put her back onto the earth and walked on past.

The Courier stood in the centre of the arena, on hard-packed, blood-soaked dirt, loosely holding the machete, breathing slowly. Her opponent clearly wasn’t Lanius. If they had another Nightkin, she was in severe trouble. She was agile, skilled at unarmed combat, and proficient with melee weapons, though they were not her preference. But a Nightkin had simply too much reach and too much stamina for her. She had killed a number in the past, but always with ranged weapons.

The gate opened and her opponent was brought in. The Courier suppressed a gasp of horror. It was no mutant, not even a legionary. She was to fight a female slave.

This fight is unfair, she called to Caesar. Too easy. Give me a real opponent!  
Caesar sneered at her. This is a captured NCR Ranger, Courier. She is the undefeated champion of the gladiator slaves. Not as easy as you think. Now fight!

The Ranger immediately took a fighting stance. She was equipped with a machete, and wore the usual brown rags with a red ‘X’ spray-painted on the front. The Courier wore her checked cowgirl shirt and cut-off jeans. Not exactly protective. The only advantage she had was in footwear, she in boots, the Ranger being barefoot.

She didn’t want an advantage, however. So she kicked off her boots. The Ranger shook her head slowly, as though to say: fool.

What’s your name?  
Stella.  
Let’s not fight, Stella. Let’s give the finger to Caesar.  
It doesn’t work like that. What keeps me alive is killing in the arena. That includes you. 

With that, Stella made a sudden step-and-slash at the Courier, who raised her elbow to fend it off and took a nick in her upper arm. A small wound, and almost painless, but it sprouted bright red blood and thrilled the crowd of legionaries avidly watching.

Let’s not give these shitheads what they want, Stella.  
The Ranger just smiled grimly and shook her head.  
I can help you.  
Only by dying. Stella slashed again, narrowly missing this time. The Courier stepped around her and used her weight to shove Stella away.

_This is insane. I’m fighting to the death a woman I have nothing against, purely for the entertainment of this baying mob._ The Courier danced around, not attacking other than to throw Stella off balance, just letting the Ranger wear herself out. It was insane, certainly, but it was happening, and she had to deal with it. She thought about running to Caesar’s platform, vaulting up and plunging her machete into his chest. Could she reach him in time? No. He was surrounded by ready men. She might be able to take out the spy though. That would be a worthy consolation prize.

These thoughts were dangerous because they were distracting from the danger at hand, and Stella was certainly dangerous. She ducked and dived, always on the attack. It was easy to see why she was reigning champion in the arena.

Lanius’ voice was audible over the din, roaring encouragement to the Courier. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the Ranger to glance at him.

I don’t want to kill you, Stella.  
You won’t. You’ll be the dead one.

The Ranger was relentless. They fought on. It would soon reach a turning point. She either killed Stella, or would become exhausted and die at the Ranger’s unwavering hand.

She conserved energy for a short while, then at high speed she executed a series of moves that the Ranger did not anticipate, and seconds later the Ranger was face-down on the ground, grunting with fury, the machete knocked out of her reach and the Courier’s machete at her jugular.

Do it, the Ranger snarled though gritted teeth. Do it!

The Courier hesitated, which only made the Ranger more furious. _One more nightmare to add to my list_ , the Courier thought. As though her nightmares weren’t yet grim enough.

Just fucking do it! the Ranger gnashed. Or I’ll do it to you!

Leaning forward on his throne, Caesar called out, Only one of you is leaving the arena alive, Courier! But it doesn’t have to be you!

The Courier leaned down to speak close to Stella’s ear. Listen, you got any message you want me to pass to anyone on the outside?  
No. Just do what you gotta, Stella sighed, all fight suddenly gone out of her. She sounded so defeated that the Courier just couldn’t bear to do it. Instead, she got up and approached Caesar’s side of the arena to plead clemency.

A prickle on the back of her neck warned her. She dodged sideways as Stella’s machete whizzed past her, right where her head would have been.

The machete flew into the crowd and there was a scramble as it deflected off the side of one legionary’s helmet and took part of an un-helmetted man’s ear off.

No time to admire that, however, because Stella was barrelling towards the Courier, head low, seconds away. The Courier did a frontflip in the air. Not because it was an especially effective move to make in a fight, but purely because it would definitely be the very last thing Stella was expecting. Stella plowed right underneath her, and the Courier landed on her, back to back. The Courier bounced off and landed on her feet. Stella went flat on the ground, winded. 

The crowd erupted, thrilled by the Courier’s display of gymnastic skill. Again! they shouted. More!

The legionaries whooped and roared with delight as the Courier left Stella on the ground, threw her own machete skittering away and backflipped halfway across the arena, a little to show off, but mainly to see if this could be better entertainment than fighting and maybe, hopefully, Stella could crawl away and the fight could be forgotten about. The Courier held a one-handed handstand for a couple of seconds, to cheers and hollers, then saw Stella coming for her again. 

She ran away from the Ranger, circling around the edge of the arena at a fast run till she reached the wooden wall-front of the podium where Caesar was, then used her momentum to run half up the wall, which startled Caesar’s praetorian guards and made the spy grab for his weapon. Caesar himself made a show of looking unruffled.

Stella couldn’t catch her, and the Courier kept doing gymnastic tricks to stir up the watching legionaries, whose excitement was reaching a fever pitch when Caesar stood up and held his arms out to shush the crowd. A silence fell. 

I think we have all had enough of this foolish display, Caesar said, expressing a view that no one else agreed with.

Caesar turned and stalked off the podium and away towards his tent. The event was over. Stella was put back in chains and led away. The Courier collected her boots, and was rounded up by Lanius’ guards and escorted out of the arena. Lanius’ expression was hidden behind his mask, but his stride was jaunty. He had enjoyed the display the display of physical virtuosity combined with humour, and was looking forward to enjoying the envy of the men that this rare and beguiling creature was his private concubine.

The Courier was trepidatious. Stella lived to fight another day, but Caesar had looked very displeased with the Courier’s antics. She had a feeling there would be repercussions. And why had he put her in the arena anyway? Evidently he wanted her dead. He probably hadn’t expected her to best the Ranger. She nearly didn’t. 

Sweat tricked down the centre of her back as they walked through the camp in the blazing sunshine. The nick in her arm had clotted and stopped bleeding. It still didn’t hurt. Nor did the new piercing or yesterday’s wound in her leg. Mainly, she just felt hot and thirsty.

When they reached the Legate’s tent and went inside, Lanius removed his gauntlets and mask, set them down, and drank cool water from a deep metal goblet, offering the cup to the Courier after he had had his fill. She drank, then hazarded to ask the Legate a question. 

My lord Lanius, was it expected that I would fight in the arena this morning, or did Caesar spring it on you as he did me?

Lanius sat down on the sofa, stretched out, and paused a long time before he answered: I don’t think Caesar is particularly fond of you, Courier.  
I wouldn’t expect him to be.  
You did well this morning. But stay away from Caesar, and don’t provoke him again.  
Thank you, sire. But I can hardly avoid him when he summons me to the arena and tries to have me killed.  
If he wanted you killed you would be dead right now. I’m sure he knew you would prevail today. You please me, Courier. And Caesar… the Legate paused again …likes me to be pleased. Come here.  
He beckoned her. Sit on my lap. That’s it. He opened the buttons of her shirt, released her bosom from its bindings, and caressed her breasts. 

Titus, Lucius and the two other guards stood around and idly watched as the Legate played with the Courier’s breasts, pinching her nipples, and leaning down to tongue them. Is he going to do it to me right here? she wondered. Surely not.

He was. Leaning her back on one of his huge arms, he opened her jeans with his other hand and slid them off her together with her underwear. Large, hard-skinned fingers found her moistness and explored within. 

You have healed nicely, Courier. The Legate was looking at her new piercing. Look, comrades. He manoeuvred her on his lap so the back of her head was on his shoulder, took one thigh in each mighty paw and opened her legs wide, inviting his men to admire the emblem of his ownership.

The Courier died a little inside. All four men were staring at her vulva, pretending to be interested in the piercing but really looking right into her vagina, and they didn’t bother to disguise the hunger in their eyes. They couldn’t hide their erections either, all four phalluses swelling to tent the fronts of their tunics.  
Lucius dragged his eyes away after a moment, but Titus was mesmerised. She a good fuck, Legate? An ill-disguised attempt to further the invitation from visual penetration to penile, but the Legate had no intention of biting. He sometimes fucked women in front of his men, but he never let his men share his women. That was one of the reasons he killed in the mornings after – so no other man would ever touch them. 

She is that, he responded, and brought out his own stiffened cock from under her to rub the glistening head of it into her opened slit. Lucius glanced back then walked to the closed door of the tent and stood there as though guarding it. The other three men watched avidly as the Courier’s wet opening stretched wider and wider around the Legate’s giant cock till he was able to slide right in. He pushed her upright on his hips, and himself leaned back on the sofa, resting his head on his arms. Fuck me, Courier, his deep voice ordered behind her.

The Courier drew her legs up so she was kneeling on the sofa astride him, still facing outward. The Legate grasped her buttocks, one in each hand, and pulled them apart a little so he could admire her rear hole while she rose and fell on him, only getting halfway up his cock with each rise, hilting it with each fall. The golden emblem shimmied in front of the vertex where their bodies met, and the Legate’s men were breathing hard as they watched it glint at them. The only sounds in the room were accelerated breathing, and the wet sounds of highly aroused sex.

Once, Cass and the Courier had had sex with a couple of mercenaries, right next to each other, randomly encountered on the road one evening, lust fuelled by whisky and near-death experiences. But that was a one-off; sex in front of an audience wasn’t the Courier’s fantasy. If it was what the Legate really wanted, however, she was willing to give to him. She rode his cock the best she could, undulating her torso for maximum depth, turning her head to meet his eyes and let him see her delight.

Fucking hell, Titus breathed. His own erection was huge now, and his hands hovered near it.  
_Don’t make me fuck your men,_ the Courier beseeched Lanius in her head. _That might be a deal-breaker._

Lanius sat up, put an arm round the Courier’s chest, another hand under one thigh and lifted her with him as he stood up, still fully embedded in her. He fucked her standing up for a few moments, then walked with her into the bedroom, letting the door close behind him. 

In the anteroom, Titus and the other two guards masturbated furiously, eyes closed and ignoring each other, straining to hear more sex from the next room. The fourth, Lucius, ignored them and stepped outside, letting the blue sky and fresh air cool his fervour. Tonight he would find a similar looking slave and give her hell. He would make her ride him as the Courier rode the Legate, and pretend that he was the Legate and she was the Courier, that her body was as lush as the Courier’s, that her breasts were as plump and her cunt as juicy, that his cock was as big as the Legate’s. He would pretend that she wanted him as the Courier wanted the Legate.

* * *

After they were finished and lay on the bed panting and dripping with sweat and cum, the Legate thought about his situation with the Courier. Like always, he refused to share; the idea of another male touching her after him was intolerable. But he didn’t want to have to kill her to protect that interest. Unlike most slaves, this Courier did not seem easily replaceable. He browsed his memories, trying to think of another woman he had met who in any way approximated her. There was none. 

He turned to gaze at her; she met his gaze, taking his hand and kissing his fingers. 

She wasn’t the very most beautiful woman he had been with, nor did she have the biggest tits, or the glossiest hair. But she was irreplaceable no less. It was the way she made him feel about himself. Her very presence next to him made him feel like no one else ever had. Better than killing an enemy in battle. Better, even, than the day Caesar had made him Legate. Caesar had made him a kind of deputy-king. The Courier made him feel like a true king. 

Lanius decided he wanted the Courier alive and well, bound tightly to his side for all time. Unfortunately, Caesar had made it clear he didn’t wish her well. This would mark another first, then – the first time that Lanius did not do exactly what Caesar wanted.


	10. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier starts to fall for the Legate's charms, and Vulpes plays a hand, but not the one he's dealt.
> 
> Dreamy Lanius sexytimes soundtrack: Hindi Zahra, Kiss & Thrills  
>  https://youtu.be/t1b0wo8dkIQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rejigged the Lanius sex scene slightly.

Tell me the rest of that story, Courier, said Lanius, lying stretched out in bed, arms folded behind his head. Romeo and whoever it was. The girl from the wrong family.  
Well, it wasn’t the ‘wrong’ family as such, my lord Lanius. It was just two factions. Neither was right or wrong.  
There is always a right and a wrong.  
I’ve never been sure of that. When you ask people to define what’s right, most people just describe what they’re used to.   
Lanius was silent, thinking about that.  
The human brain is devised to think in opposites, the Courier elaborated. Hot cold, light dark, wet dry, strong weak, up down, us them, good bad. If this feels ‘right’ to me, my natural instinct is to assume that the opposite would be wrong.

Does this feel right to you, Courier? Lanius propped himself up on one elbow and gazed intently at her. Lying in bed with me? What does your natural instinct tell you?  
Does it feel right to you? she countered, rolling onto her side to face him, six inches apart. She could feel his body heat, smell his hair and warm skin.  
He nodded, unafraid to answer first. Yes. Yes, it feels right.  
She nodded back slowly. I agree, she said. It was the truth.  
Lanius stroked his hand down her side to rest it heavily on the deep dip of her waist. He said, And being apart from you would feel wrong.  
I feel that too, she said.  
They looked at each other steadily for a few moments, then Lanius leaned in to kiss, his lips gentle and warm. The Courier was entranced. They kissed for minutes that felt short to them, long to the rest of the world, before the Courier allowed Lanius to move on top of her, still kissing her, kneeing her legs apart. She reached down and took hold of his erection, stroking it upwards a little, then spreading the clear droplets that appeared on the slit around the glans with her thumb. He exhaled with delight as he felt her rub the sensitive head of his cock into her wet groove, then ease it inside her, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and holding him in for a few moments while she adjusted to his magnitude.

When she released him he moved slowly out, then slowly back inside her, seeming to want to feel every sensation in each thrust. The Courier raised her face to the pulse in his strong neck and breathed deeply. His weight and scent enveloped her, heady and intoxicating, just as her sex enveloped his. It felt like there was nothing else in the world but each other, meshed completely. 

Gradually his thrusts became deeper, faster, more urgent. She began to feel the possibility of orgasm approaching, if he kept this rhythm up. He was opening her so wide, pressing in so powerfully, reaching places so deep, every nerve ending in her inflamed sex was signalling the approach to ecstasy. 

His mouth found hers again, and she sucked his curious tongue as her interior sucked at his lunging cock on each withdrawal. Orgasm swept through her, intense and deafening. She cried out around his tongue and her fingers clutched into his shoulders, to which he responded by pulling all the way out then plunging in, forcing her body to accept him stunningly deeply, and pressing hard against her cervix while she shuddered and moaned his name, unable to do anything but ride the overwhelming climax out. 

When she finally became still Lanius sat up, between her legs. He hadn’t come yet, and he wanted to have the pleasure of watching her thoroughly-used cunt receive his payload. 

He fucked her from that position, forcefully holding her thighs wide, admiring the view of his elephantine cock distending her labia, glistening with their combined juices, above that her swollen clitoris, and next to that the golden Legate-mask medallion he had chained right into her sex, warning death to any other who may approach. 

The sight of her so utterly undone before him was so beautifully obscene, so indecent yet bewitching that despite having released himself in her only half an hour or so ago, he came hard inside her again, pulsing out shot after shot of fertile semen. He kept holding her thighs apart when he pulled out, and watched with satisfaction the flow of thick white cum leaking from her gaping hole, which dilated and clenched as her body worked to recover itself.  
Ravishing, he murmured. He rubbed his cock in the stream of hot cum, then ordered her to clean him with her mouth, to which she complied willingly, licking and swallowing down his seed with evident relish. He watched her work, saying nothing, but showing his appreciation by stroking her hair very gently.

I’m messed up, she said as they dressed again afterwards. Her skin glowed with sweat, her arm was still bloodstreaked below the nick she’d taken from Ranger Stella’s blade, her hands were dirty and bloodstained from the arena floor, and she smelled strongly of ejaculate.   
Legate, do we dare swim in the lake again?  
Why not. We can stay closer to the shore, Lanius suggested.  
Since you killed the monsters, no more might come, the Courier nodded. Do you have anywhere you are supposed to be this afternoon? I can go by myself if need be.  
I have time. Let’s walk down. You can tell me the rest of that story on the way.

They passed through the anteroom, where his guards were now sitting casually and looking relatively respectable.

Time to eat, Legate? Titus asked hopefully.  
I’ll eat later. Go without me. We are heading to the lake.  
What about the creatures? The guards frowned.  
We dealt with them yesterday, we will deal with them today if we need to. I’ll be back in half an hour or less. Go eat.

The swim was quick, just for washing, no playing this time. Her fingernails were reluctant to become clean so she gave up on them, but the Courier took care to rinse her hair, her recent wounds, and every other part of herself. Her wounds were healing well. Perhaps Cass’ wild claim that a diet of cum was good for the skin had an element of truth after all.

On the way back up the hill, the Courier stopped at Siri’s table to pick up a couple more sachets of healing powder. She greeted Siri cheerfully but Siri returned only a subdued nod, and handed over the requested items without speaking. The Courier said a fulsome thank you nonetheless. It wasn’t Siri’s fault that the spy had made her tell everything she knew, the Courier considered. Who knew what that disturbingly cold man did to slaves who didn’t acquiesce to his demands.

* * *

They went to the mess tent to join the Legate’s guards eating barbecued lizard meat, where many hard-faced high-ranking legionaries hailed Lanius and congratulated him on his convincing win over the Nightkin in the arena that morning. Lanius waved it away, as though it had been nothing, but privately he basked in the adulation of the veterans. To be revered by recruits and young up-and-coming legionaries was one thing. To be admired and respected by older men themselves as hard as nails was far superior.

When the cheering and drink-raising died down and they began their meal, the Courier quietly asked the Legate if she may ask him for two favours.   
Lanius looked down at her sideways, expression forbidding. I’m not in the habit of doing favours for anyone, he murmured.   
These are small favours.  
What would they be, Courier?  
She leaned close to whisper in his ear, and he leaned down to allow it. She spoke so softly no one else could hear. Don’t put my body on display to your guards, sire. Or any other men. My interior is only for your eyes.   
He regarded her for a moment, considering whether or not to be irate at this tacit criticism of his earlier conduct. He decided not to be. It was a reasonable request, respectfully phrased. She was no ordinary slave after all, he felt, and he should not treat her as such. He nodded at her once, to show he agreed.  
What is your second request? The Legate took a large bite of meat, tearing it off the bone with his teeth.  
The courier said in a normal voice, since this second request was not so private: I would like to send a message home, to say that I am safe and my companions should not come looking for me.   
Does it matter if they do?  
Yes. My friends could be very dangerous if they thought I was trapped here. One in particular - he is a trained sniper. We don’t want him to come looking.  
A past lover of yours?  
No. God no. He’s in love with a dead woman.  
Is that an expression?  
No, literally. His wife died, he still mourns for her.  
As he should.  
 _This coming from a man who usually kills his lovers._ Legate, that yellow-haired slave girl, the one who was given to you yesterday, could we use her to deliver the message to New Vegas?  
Lanius shook his head. I have already given her back to Caesar. If you want a message taken to New Vegas, Vulpes Inculta should do it. Heh! He snorted in private amusement.  
The Courier smiled too. Much as I’d love to make him play messengerboy, she replied, I doubt he’d agree, and more importantly my friends wouldn’t trust a word he said, nor any legionary messenger. It would need to be a female slave to have any credence.  
Lanius shook his head. No, Courier. Too expensive. Such a slave would not return, and would divulge too much information to the enemy. You handwrite the message and a frumentarius delivers it; or it is not sent at all.   
He looked around at his men, and spoke to the table at large as well as her. We don’t fear snipers. Why would we? They can’t touch us. Let your friend come, and good luck to him. The legate grinned a one-sided, ominous smile.  
There was ebullient agreement to this from the Legate’s guards. Let the fool come! He will be able to watch over you from his head on a spike! 

The Courier kept her expression blank. A message sent via Beale could have effected the abducted girl’s escape from the legion, to the –relative– safety of New Vegas, but it was not to be. She would have to think of another strategy. 

Boone and her other companions, she wasn’t really concerned about. Her companions were well trained: they were to trust that she would look after herself, and not to worry about her under any circumstances. They were permitted to worry about their own and each other’s safety, of course, but never hers. If she wasn’t around, she wasn’t around – they were not to go looking for her or raise an alarm on her behalf. In the past the Courier had had many private intrigues going on, matters that most or all of her companions were not involved in, and she was often away for extended periods.

So Boone wouldn’t come, at least not for a long time.

It bothered her, though, that young Beale had been put back in the hands of Caesar. Perhaps she should have asked to keep her with Lanius after all, that might have been preferable; though the idea of watching the titan defile a petrified teenage abductee sickened her utterly. Possibly not as sick as what Caesar might be doing, however. Where was the girl now?

That yellow-haired slave girl, she said again, when there was a break in the conversation of the men. Where would she be now?  
Well, she was pretty, so Caesar will have kept her, or passed her on to Lucius, or if he had no use for her then Vulpes, and on down the line, Lanius answered with a careless wave of the hand.  
The Courier’s brow furrowed. _Poor kid. To be pretty is to be cursed._  
Not as pretty as you, my love, Lanius continued, stroking her hair fondly.  
She kept her eyes down, making sure to reward his patronage with a modest smile. 

The Courier reached for her dented tin cup, delicately picked out a tiny flying bug struggling on the surface, set the insect free by flicking it onto the ground away from the mens’ feet, and took a long sip of water, waiting for the topic of conversation to change. She was astonished at hearing the Legate call her ‘my love’ within the hearing of his men. What did this mean? Nothing - or everything? How did he normally treat his women? Easy, he killed them. Did he treat them affectionately, and call them his love before he killed them? Fuck, maybe he actually did. Anything was possible in this parallel world.

* * *

After the meal, they parted. The Legate went with his guards to meet with Caesar, and the Courier went back to the Legate’s tent alone, with the healing powder in her pocket, to attend to her various small injuries and rest. The morning’s acrobatic display in the arena had made her muscles and sinews sore. She’d always been athletic and naturally gymnastic, but she hadn’t used those tumbling and balance-trick skills in a long while, not since she became “the Courier” and life had become deadly serious. This morning’s exertions had sanded the rust off her the hard way, and she ached a little.

Should’ve stuck with a straight-up knife fight, she said to herself, dabbing healing powder into the cut on her arm, and sticking a narrow strip of duct tape across it to keep the edges closed. Machetes at dawn. But then one of them would be dead.

An hour or so later, Lanius hadn’t returned, and the Courier had had an idea.

She went out and made her way to Siri’s tent. Along the way she passed a legionary beating a recruit with a baton, shouting furiously in Latin at him. Some sort of insubordination had occurred. She walked on. Near Siri’s tent another legionary was snarling at a slave, and as she approached he slapped the slave hard across the face and she fell to the ground, where he promptly kicked her in the stomach. The slave screamed silently, her mouth an O but too afraid to make any sound. The Courier’s blood boiled but she forced herself to walk past. She could not intervene without risking dangerously unpredictable results. She had no standing here. If she said or did anything that indicated disapproval, the legionary might beat the slave even worse, just to make a point.

Just as she passed by, the slave’s body came crashing against her and she almost lost her footing – the legionary had picked up the bone-thin waif and thrown her through the air. Now the Courier could hardly not intervene.

May I assist you? she asked the legionary, shining her most charismatic smile at him. As though she worked at the front desk of the Ultra-Luxe, and he was a wealthy farmer, here for a good time.  
He glanced at her, about to say something, but then got caught in her bright gaze and faltered, transfixed by the warmth in her eyes, his fury visibly dissipating to be replaced by confusion.   
Still smiling, and not taking her eyes off the legionary’s perplexed face, the Courier helped the slave to her feet, and gently but firmly pushed the maltreated, malnourished woman behind herself and away. The message was clear. _I am now between you and that slave. And I am not a starving, broken woman. Come at me, and risk your testicles. I dare you._  
Who are you, he asked. Evidently he had not been at the arena that morning.  
I am the Courier, she replied.   
The legionary still looked confused.   
And I am the Legate Lanius’ concubine.   
At that he stepped back, face panicked, as though he’d suddenly found himself teetering on the edge of a bottomless ravine.

The Courier walked away without saying more. No more was needed. There was an advantage to being Lanius’ concubine, it seemed; she got to borrow an element of his fearsomeness when needed. She went up to the table outside Siri’s tent, where she found Siri watching the events with a cautiously expressionless face. 

Hello again, Siri. Vulpes Inculta’s tent, where is it?  
Siri’s poker-face dropped. You… want to see him?   
I’d like to talk to him about a slave girl named Beale.  
His tent is the one closest to Caesar’s, on the right-hand side. Siri frowned. Her face said plainly, stay away from him, if you value your life.  
Thank you. And if you see him before I do, well, you know what to do.

The Courier went back up the hill, this time taking a more meandering route between the many tents. She passed two slaves who were carrying a third. The rail-thin body was limp, and looked dead. She walked on, feeling guilty for the nutritious food in her stomach, and angry with Caesar. He couldn’t feed the slaves he already had, but he kept on capturing more, stealing whole tribes with the grandiose claim that he was saving them from dissolution, only to let them die of overwork and starvation right under his nose. Starvation was a painful and miserable death, no one deserved it.

Thinking about this, the Courier wondered if she should leave Beale to her fate. Perhaps it was better to be pretty after all. At least they might feed her to keep her pretty. If all her intervention resulted in was getting Beale moved to the general slave population for manual labour without sufficient rations, she may not be doing her any favour at all. Incessant sexual assault, but fed; or incessant heavy work, agonizingly starved. Two different types of torture, endemic in the Legion. Which felt worse, the Courier wondered. Impossible to know without experiencing it herself. That may yet come; not if she could avoid it, of course, but looking around the camp at all these women, some of them looked as though they had once been strong, and none of them seemed to have been able to avoid it.

Funny, how the vast majority of people are innately good, but psychopaths always seem to rise to the top, she reflected. They manipulate society, use methods no one else would lower themselves to, piss upon unspoken rules, and exploit anyone and everything they can to manoeuvre themselves into positions of power over others. From there, lacking scruple, the exploitation continues on a grand scale, and somehow no one can see it. Instead, people reverse-engineer justifications for it, and might, as the old expression went, becomes right.

What about Lanius, then. He was one of these, wasn’t he? Or was he? It wasn’t clear yet. He was famous for his cruelty, yet she had yet to actually witness the cruel side of him. He paid no particular attention to slaves, and he treated his men well. Alone with her, he was by nature dominating, true, but also warm, and sometimes even playful. It was hard to reconcile the tenderness and wit he showed her, with his terrifying reputation as the legendary Monster of the East. It had to come, though, surely. Sooner or later something would happen that explained the title.

The spy’s tent was not all that close to Caesar’s, and was crowded around by other tents, but it was easy to pick out because it was notably larger than others, made of finer quality canvas, and the entrance was draped on each side with Legion Standards. The Courier stood in front of the closed entrance and said, Beale? There was silence within. No one was around to see, so she pulled the tentflap aside and looked inside. It was dark, and cooler inside. There were some bulky shapes lying on the floor at the far end of the space that she couldn’t quite make out. She stepped further in.   
Beale?  
There was only silence. The interior of the tent smelled oddly distinctive. Wood ash, faint ammonia, and a bitter herb that the Courier could not place. The Courier let her eyes adjust to the dimness and tentatively moved further in to inspect the huddled shapes. Piles of armour of various types. Helmets, shoulderguards, breastplates and other items. Boots. Spare blankets. No slave.

Along one wall of his tent there were three shelves, with medical equipment, jars of herbs, bottles and potions on one shelf, weapons, tools and other paraphernalia on another, and arrayed along the top shelf in pride of place were ancient books. She perused the spines. All non-fiction, all histories relating to war in one way or another. Books detailing the Roman conquests, biographies of Roman leaders, European history of the Middle Ages, the Inquisition, the Crusades. A book about Constantinople, a biography of Tamerlane. 

Arcade would consider this a treasure trove, the Courier thought. She carefully picked out a book titled Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings, and opened it at the contents page to see who the four kings were, but had no time to read a word because just behind her the spy’s icy voice spoke softly.   
See something you like?  
She snapped the book shut and spun round. He said nothing more, just watched her, standing deliberately too close. Making the point that he had gotten so close without her sensing him.  
You move silently, spy. Fitting for your occupation, I suppose.  
Still he said nothing. The unreadability of his stare was disconcerting.  
She stepped carefully back, and replaced the book on the shelf. I apologise for entering your tent uninvited, she conceded.   
The silent stare softened a fraction. He said, to her surprise: You’re always invited, Courier.  
She paused a second, formulating her response. Unnecessary, but thank you. I’d also like to say that I regret speaking discourteously to you last night.  
As do I, he replied. It wasn’t clear if he meant he regretted her speech or his own.  
Vulpes, I came here to ask you about a slave girl named Beale. Yellow hair, very young, new in the camp. Have you seen her?  
Why do you ask?  
Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.  
He pursed his lips, then decided to oblige. Caesar has her.  
Oh. Never mind, then.  
We had a deal, Courier.  
Just to see if she’s ok, doesn’t matter.  
It depends on your definition of ok. Did you take a liking to her?  
Not especially. I just thought I’d look in on her.   
So you came to my tent.  
I heard she might have been given to you.  
Alone.  
That’s how I do things.  
You browsed my personal belongings.  
The Courier shrugged lightly, saying: Books didn’t seem too personal. Not like I sniffed your undershorts. What _is_ that odd smell, by the way?  
The spy sniffed the air, as though he had never noticed it before. White horsenettle.  
What do you use that for?  
The spy smiled a smile that got nowhere near his eyes. He moved close to her again. _Tremble_ , he whispered.

The Courier eyed him, unsettled as he intended her to be, but determined not to show it.   
I’m not sure what you mean. Are you expecting me to tremble?  
He sniggered, and this time his smile was genuine, though devious, and even more discomforting than his fake smile. _Tremble_ is a poison, Courier. It makes its victim shake, so much that it’s impossible to grasp a weapon, or aim a blow – which makes it very fun to watch them trying to defend themselves against me.  
If that’s your idea of fun... the Courier said.

The spy came even closer, stepping right into her personal space, till her back was touching the shelves. Up so close, she noticed that he did not seem to believe in swims in the lake – his skin smelled dirty and his dark spiky hair was mixed through with dust.

This didn’t have to go on – she could easily sidestep and leave his tent, she thought. But somehow she was fascinated, she just had to see how this played out. It felt like his aura was gluing her to the spot, his eyes and voice hypnotising her.

It vexes me, Courier, that you turned me down in favour of the Legate. If it’s sons you want, I could give you those, with as much influence, and less chance of death in childbirth. If it’s power you want, I have that. I have Caesar’s ear, much more than the Legate does. And if it’s epic cock you want, well, let me show you what I can do. 

Without taking his eyes off hers, he took the Courier’s hand and touched it to his tunic below his belt. His fingers intercalated with hers as he pressed her hand to his growing erection, and stroked it through the cloth. 

The Courier noticed that the spy’s breath had quickened. Her own, she kept calm. With his free hand he raised the cloth of his tunic, and pressed her hand flat to his manhood, silky-skinned and now fully hard and standing tall. He hadn’t lied, it was more than plentiful in dimensions. Compared to a normal human, that is; nothing compared to the superhuman hard-on wielded by her 7-foot master.

Slowly masturbating himself using her palm, the spy leaned in and pressed dry lips in silent kisses to her jawline. The heat of his breath on her cheek and neck was exciting, she admitted that to herself. Enough to feel a twinge in her nethers. Even the smell of his dusty hair and dirty skin had started to become alluring. But touching his cock was noticeably exciting him a lot more than it was her.

He pressed his mouth to the corner of her closed lips, in a long, unreciprocated kiss.   
I want you very badly, Courier, he breathed, his voice barely audible. And I think you are going to want me.  
It was intoxicating, his silky soft voice and silky hard cock, his aura of intense danger and words of intense lust. The Courier fought a momentary urge to give in and let him show her everything he had to offer.   
I’m not actually going to have sex with you, Inculta, she said, out loud to be sure she heard herself as well as he.  
He made no reply, but with his bottom lip, lifted her top lip a little, parting her mouth. It was a good move, she had to admit that too. Enough to slightly moisten her panties. He moved her hand faster against his throbbing cock, and she sensed him getting close – she suddenly realised he was actually intending to come in her hand. 

She let him get even closer, till his breathing became erratic and he made a small grunt, the sound that meant cum was about to speed its way up his length. Before it arrived in open air, she pulled away from him, reclaiming her hand, and moved to the doorway, swiftly but taking care to appear nonchalant.

She mock-saluted an insolent goodbye to him, pointedly using the hand that seconds ago he had expected to spill himself in.

Before she left his tent she peeked out to make sure no one was there to witness her exit. It was almost blindingly bright outside. There was no one around but two slaves carrying heavy tin buckets, slung balanced from rusty iron bars across their shoulders. They were a few feet past the tent and walking away, and didn’t see her as she slipped out. A last glance back into his tent saw him standing in the same spot, staring at her, his hands now at his sides. He was breathing hard, his jaw jutted in anger and his eyes were burning with frustration.

The Courier strolled casually away, zigzagging between tents in a nonsensical path so no one could guess where she’d come from. She kept her face blasé but inside she was laughing. That had been some unexpected fun. 

She thought about him saying that poisoning people and watching them suffer was fun. She had poisoned him now, with desire for her; and he was the one who would suffer.

She went to the ablution area, toileted and washed her hands carefully. 

Then she headed to the Legate’s tent, to see her true lover.


	11. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier reluctantly attends a party with her master, where Vulpes proves that he has a filthy (silver) tongue and balls of hard (blue) steel.  
> The Courier decides she is sick of playing mouse, and introduces the two tomcats.

When she walked into the Legate’s tent, Lanius was back, with all four of his guards. A slave was fanning them with a long crow-feather fan while they sat around holding metal goblets of water and watching Titus in the centre of the floor with his shirt off, doing push-ups. Titus’ bronzed muscles bulged as the huge man pumped up and down. His skin glowed with a sheen of sweat.

Well this is totally not homoerotic, the Courier observed as she took in the scene.  
Lanius fixed her with a piercing gaze. Where have you been, Courier?  
I went to look for that slave girl, to make sure she was alright.

Lanius looked around at his men as though she had said something incomprehensible and they might be able to translate. None were able to assist.   
Explain this interest in her, he demanded.  
The Courier shrugged. I wouldn’t call it interest. More just pity. I felt sorry for her, being so new and lost.  
She is not ‘lost’, Courier. She is found. She will find purpose for the first time in her life, blessed by the Legion. And as for being new… Here he snorted. She won’t be new for long.

Ninety-nine… one hundred! Titus said, springing up. He gave the Courier an ‘eh? eh?’ look, inviting her admiration for his display of testosterone and his majestic physique. At 6’8” and all lean muscle it was pretty majestic, so she said, Well done! and stepped past him to the bedroom, with the intention of dodging any more grilling as to where she’d been; although if Lanius pressed the issue she would tell him the truth.  
Eh? See if you can top that! she heard Titus say behind her. Anytime, one of them replied. She glanced back to see ginger-haired Lucius standing up and pulling his tunic off in one smooth movement then rolling his broad shoulders in preparation. He had a large tattoo of a charging bull across his upper back. He dropped to the ground and started doing one-armed push-ups. Oohh! the other guards crowed. Pff, Titus said, making a dismissive gesture.

The Courier tore her eyes away.

Lanius followed her into the bedroom.   
We dine with Caesar tonight, Courier. Get yourself ready.   
He left the room. The Courier went to her pack and took out her comb. She sat on the bed and set about detangling her hair. Apart from that, she had no particular get-ready rituals. Her usual idea of ‘ready’ being to have put on some pants and tucked a loaded weapon into her waistband.  
She changed from her shorts into her recon suit, without the headgear, and arrayed her freshly smoothed hair prettily around her face and shoulders. Not too prettily, hopefully. She didn’t want Caesar to get any ideas.

Presently Lanius came back in.   
No, he shook his head. Wear a gown. This is a formal event. He went to leave again.  
I don’t own a dress, the Courier said to his retreating back. He turned around. I don’t usually have much use for them, she explained.  
Lanius looked thoughtful for a moment. Do you know the Praetorian guard named Lucius Aelius? he asked.   
Yes, Caesar’s chief guard, the Courier confirmed.  
Go find his wife. She can loan you something.

The Courier went out on the mission, and returned in due course with a long, sleeveless, backless red dress. The material was a little coarse, but it was well-cut and the shape was stylish. It was the kind of thing Veronica daydreamed about. The kind of style you might see at the Ultra-Luxe. Not at all the kind of thing the Courier _ever_ wore. But then being a general’s concubine wasn’t the kind of thing the Courier ever did either, so, when in Rome…

She tried it on. She couldn’t wear her usual breast-bindings underneath it, and she decided not to wear underwear either as they were all dirty and she didn’t want anyone to smell her. _Memo to self: wash your smalls tomorrow. You never know when you’re going to play Cinderella at a ball,_ she told herself wryly.

The dress formed two narrow triangles over her breasts, which went up to tie at the back of her neck. It cinched just under the bustline instead of at the waist. Instead of seams, it simply wrapped across itself at the front, leaving a long slit but covering her adequately. Her bust was not covered adequately, however. She was bigger than Praetorian Lucius’ wife, and her breasts were popping out on either sides of the triangles of cloth. She pulled at the cloth, this way and that, trying to make it a little less indecent; but it was no use, the dress was already snug and there was not enough give in the material. 

Lanius, now masked and attired in freshly-polished armour, popped his head in the door, paused a second, and stepped through, closing it carefully behind him. He approached her, taking his mask off, eyes fixed on the swell of her barely-covered breasts. His expression was very stern, and the Courier anticipated another lecture on Legion morality.

With one calloused finger he slipped the dress around the side of her left breast, baring it.  
Stand on the edge of the bed, he ordered her in a low voice. She stepped up and balanced on the edge, and he slipped his hand through the slit of her dress and around the back to take hold of one of her buttocks, naked under the dress, squeezing it with his rough hand. Her bared breast, he lifted and squeezed with his free hand then took into his mouth, as much as he could, sucking and grunting softly with the pleasure of it.

While his tongue massaged her erect nipple, his fingers explored deeper between her legs and found her soft folds, soft caresses on the delicate skin bringing her to moist arousal. His black beard scratched her skin around where he was suckling her, the sensation arousing her further.   
Ahh, she sighed in bliss, running her fingers through his hair.  
I want to fuck you, Courier, he growled softly. But, we are late already.   
He pulled his fingers out of her, sucking her arousal off each one, and reinstated her dress over her breast. 

The Courier walked to the dinner very slippery between the legs and wishing she had worn underwear.

* * *

The event was in the large open-air courtyard area of Caesar’s tent. Titus and Lucius attended, walking behind the Legate; his other two guards took up position outside the tent in addition to Caesar’s own guards. A long trestle table had been erected in the centre of the courtyard and draped with a deep red cloth that hung low on each side. No one sat at the table yet, everyone just mingled around chatting. There were women here, wives or concubines of senior officers. Every one of the women wore a long red dress, in different designs. The Courier surreptitiously checked them out. Arms and necklines were apparently acceptable to display bare. Legs, not. Funny, as the Legion men all had bare legs under their tunics. Even Lanius had not worn his leg plates.

The Legate looked magnificent as ever in his shining armour, horned helmet and red cloak. All eyes were on him as he entered. 

Then all of the guests’ eyes swivelled from Lanius’ mask to the Courier’s unfortunately conspicuous breasts, when she walked in just behind him. The Courier was sanguine, however. She probably looked preposterous in this barely-decent dress, but ultimately, it mattered nothing. As long as the Legate was happy with her, her secret mission was on track.

They went directly to Caesar, who first greeted Lanius warmly, paying tribute to his triumphant performance in the arena that morning; then fixed the Courier with a very unfriendly stare and said, Nice tits. She didn’t respond and he said nothing more to her. Her performance in the arena was not mentioned. No doubt she had disappointing him by not dying.

Caesar indicated that the Courier should go get Lanius a drink, and to refresh his own. Reduced to a servant, the Courier didn’t care. The less she had to pretend to make nice conversation the better.

She wandered over to a side table where a slave woman in her best rags was pouring drinks. Some kind of fruit punch. Alcohol-free, as was the Legion way. That was one thing that the Courier thought the Legion probably did have right. She had seen too many Wasteland settlements decimated by alcohol, bodies slumped in streets, looking dead, acting dead, yet not dead. Children neglected and abused. Soon as they could, the sorrowful children chose similar numbness for themselves.

She selected three drinks and held two in one hand, sipping from the other. It was thick and sweet on her tongue.  
I want to come in your mouth, a silky voice whispered in her ear. She nearly choked. Inculta was right on her, close enough that when the hairs on her arms pricked up in alarm they touched his armour. She hadn’t even seen him in the room.  
No need to be even creepier than you usually are, she retorted.  
I want to lick you, he murmured, looking down into her cleavage, completely ignoring her warning glare.  
She took a half-step back. You know, you and I used to have a relatively civil relationship. What happened?  
Eyes of cold blue fire burned into her. His voice was low but impassioned. You, Courier. I gave you gentlemanly. I gave you the chance to take it slow. But you denied me, and now you lie each night with my rival. I have offered myself to you, I know you want me, yet it gives you some ill pleasure to persist in denying me.  
The Courier scoffed. You know no such thing. And I will deny any man who isn’t the Legate. Don’t take it personally.  
But I do take it personally. He took a drink from the table, then stepped close to her again and held it so that the backs of his fingers touched her nipple. His hand microscopically moved up and down, unnoticeable to the other guests, but sufficient to stimulate her through the cloth. Her treacherous nub stiffened in response.

You denied me before you ever met him. You are wilfully blind to my quality. I will not relent until you show me the respect I deserve. He gripped her erect nipple between the backs of his fingers, still outwardly looking as though he was merely holding a drink, innocently standing a little too close in order to be heard below the throng.  
Don’t say that.  
You chose the wrong man, Courier.   
I didn’t choose a man. I took a course of action.

She pushed his hand away, and took the drinks to Caesar and Lanius, thankfully still deep in conversation and paying no mind to her. Her back prickled all the way. Damn this dress, with no space for weapons, she thought. Doubtless the spy had a blade hidden somewhere on him. Poisoned, probably. She’d feel a lot better if she did too.

She stood near Lanius, listening to him converse in Latin with Caesar, allowing his deep voice to resonate through and relax her. Ignoring the spy, who was now being spoken to by a cruel-faced man in an elaborate crested helmet but seemed to be paying little attention, nodding at the man occasionally, but mostly gazing at the Courier with a practised lack of expression on his face. 

Praetorian Lucius’ wife came and made polite conversation with her, introducing her to another officer’s concubine. They chatted a little about the difficulty of sourcing good quality cloth, but the Courier couldn’t find much to say. She was thirsty but every time she sipped her too-sweet drink, she unwillingly remembered the spy’s shocking words. What he wanted to do with her mouth. She stopped sipping it.

Dinner was called. Caesar was at the head of the table, and Lanius sat to his right. He gestured for the Courier to sit next to him. Titus wasn’t quick enough, and the spy contrived to slip into his seat flanking the Courier. 

Almost as soon as they sat down, Lanius reached under the table and stroked her left thigh, pressing her left leg against his. She didn’t mind. But on the other side, the spy smoothly hooked his foot around her right ankle and tugged her right leg towards him. She tried to pull it back but couldn’t without awkward movements, risking giving her embarrassment away. So she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, with her legs apart and dress opened, smiling serenely at the other guests whilst the two men played with and caressed her below.

Drinks were refreshed. The Courier chose cold water.

Food soon arrived, and the guests ate well. Lanius used two hands to eat, but the spy ate casually with a fork in his right hand, keeping his left hand supposedly on his lap, actually on her inner thigh, stroking her. His fingers climbed higher. His little finger touched the medallion pierced into her, and he glanced at her curiously. He felt it carefully. In her peripheral vision she saw him recognise the shape. He glanced at her again, and this time she met his eye, giving him a sweet smile, pleased to see that he actually looked slightly shocked by his find.

The mood at the party became merry. Caesar started telling a very funny story about a tribe he’d destroyed somewhere, and everyone at the table laughed uproariously, clamouring to hear what happened next. The Courier paid little attention, instead signalling one of the servants for a fresh glass of water.

The tip of the spy’s little finger made its way into her moist slit, feeling around till he found her aroused clitoris. He stroked it. The Courier took a long sip of cold water. Stay cool, she told herself.

The spy leaned his face close, his breath was warm on her ear. I want to bend you down and fuck you from behind.   
She glanced at him, and he gave her back the same sweet smile that she’d given him. She brushed it off and ignored him. The servant delivered her drink and the Courier thanked her with a genuine smile. The servant looked startled and backed away.

I want to lay you in my bed, spread you open and lick your wet gash till you cry my name, the spy whispered softly, poker-face immaculate. He could have been saying, the weather is warm this time of year.

His hand ghosted up her thigh again, but when she tried to flick it off this time it was a trap – he gripped her wrist tightly and brought her fingers to his cock, hard under his tunic. For the second time in a day, he misused her hand to pleasure himself, this time in daredevil proximity to the Legate.

The Courier decided to fight fire with fire. She grinned at a point in Caesar’s story where everyone at the table burst out laughing, and reached down a little to flex her fingers around Inculta’s tight testes.  
Still fake-laughing, she turned to the spy and said through her teeth, right up close to his ear: Let go or I will rip your fucking balls off.

The point was well made. The spy let go of her wrist, and she immediately used the sullied hand to grasp her glass, take a sip, change hands, fumble, and spill the rest of her cold drink onto his crotch.

I’m so sorry, she said lightly. The spy looked sideways at her under his lashes, vengeful. 

The centurion sitting across from them started looking at them curiously, and the Courier decided to be careful not to pay any more attention to the spy for the rest of the night, no matter what further provocations he visited on her.

Then she had a better idea. Why not take the bull by the horns.  
She touched Lanius’ hand. My Lord Legate?  
Lanius turned to look down at her, and Caesar peered at her too, irritated that she had taken the Legate’s attention off himself.  
Embodying a blend of innocence and amusement, she gestured towards the spy.  
Master Inculta keeps talking to me, and saying the strangest things. I believe he is trying to intrigue me.  
Is that right… the Legate said slowly, looking around her at the spy, whose features were frozen in astonishment. 

It wasn’t clear to the Courier if the spy’s astonishment was feigned to imply that she was crazy to have invented such a wild allegation, or if he was genuinely stunned that she would make such a dangerous move in their little game. 

For a few long seconds no one moved or spoke, except Caesar whose eyes were crinkled with mirth.   
Ah, now it’s on, he crowed approvingly, as though there was really nothing like a good brawl after dinner.

The Courier looked back at Lanius, waiting to see what the fallout would be, ready for anything.


	12. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier makes a hit on Caesar.   
>  Vulpes makes a demonstration.   
>  Lanius experiences a shock.   
>  The Courier's heart softens in one direction and hardens in the other.

You flirt with my woman? You flirt with death, Inculta. Is that what you want? Speak. Lanius’ tone was ominously neutral.  
The spy hesitated, then said with a tinge of hurt in his voice: I have merely been attempting to elicit information from her as to NCR plans in the Mojave.  
Lanius’ gaze shifted from the spy to the Courier, waiting for her to confirm or deny.  
Well, he did say he wanted to come in my–… she began. Next to her, the spy tensed– …tent and ask me some questions about NCR movements.  
What else? Lanius said between gritted teeth.  
He said he would like to bend… –the spy froze again– …my ear to his ideas about counter-tactics.  
Hmm.  
And, he said that he wanted to lay me down… –the spy was looking at her now with hunted eyes– …some maps of the Mojave he has, and get my input into correcting their details.

Lanius was no fool. He knew exactly what she was implying. SMACK! His massive hand flew up from behind the Courier’s chair and swiped Inculta on the back of his skull, snapping the spy’s head forward. The spy leapt to his feet, wild with fury at the shaming assault, his chair falling away behind him with a crash. Gripped in his white-knuckled fist he had a vicious-looking blade at the ready.

The Legate calmly stood up, kicked his own chair away, and faced him. His eyes took in the blade, but he wasn’t intimidated. He’d won uncountable fights against knife-wielding opponents. 

Immediately, the Legate’s guards Titus and Lucius stood up too. In response, a light-haired man the Courier vaguely knew as a frumentarius named something like Gabban or Gabber stood up from the other side of the table. Then three more men of uncertain allegiance rose up, one of them cracking his knuckles cartoonishly.

The Courier stood up too, careful to stay close to the table and not to get between the two men. She didn’t want to lay herself open to any accusations that she tried to protect one man from the other. Either way, that would be bad. But she did want to get in on the fight. 

For an achingly long second no one moved, then it kicked off so fast it was impossible to see who’d made the first move. Gabban short-cutted across the table to reach the Legate, bouncing everyone’s drinks but somehow managing not to kick any plates on the way. Agile, the Courier thought admiringly. One to be watched. The scene was quickly chaos, eight men wrestling savagely, heavy punches, strangled grunts, oaths and curses. Titus got hit on the head with a bottle, which miraculously didn’t break. Blood streamed down one side of his face but the huge guard just wiped his eye clear and kept right on fighting like he hadn’t even felt it. One of the mystery fighters took a brutal kick to the side of the leg and went down, not to get up.

Caesar sat back and laughed. The Praetorian Lucius Aelius stayed seated next to him, watching the action, alert but unmoving. His job was to protect Caesar, no one else.

The Courier skirted around the action, aiming a jab here, a kick there. Lanius briefly managed to get the spy into a muscular headlock. The spy’s knife was dislodged from his blood-slicked fingers by Titus, before Titus got taken down by Gabban and another man in a joint effort, and the blade vanished loose under the fighters, then the Courier saw it spin under a chair. She quickly snatched it up and instantly, without looking at him directly but seeing him clearly in her peripheral vision, threw it full force and with practised precision right at Caesar’s face.

She got unlucky. Caesar was just leaning forward to reach his drink, and the knife thwacked into the back of his throne right where his head had been. He turned, comically slowly, to look at its hilt vibrating there, then took a huge breath and bellowed.  
ENOUGH!

The fighters froze, albeit with heaving chests and audibly furious breathing.  
Caesar, with some difficulty, yanked the knife out of the back of his chair and held it up.  
Who, the fuck, threw this?! he roared.  
There was silence, but the Courier saw Titus turn towards her and stare meaningfully. He’d seen her. She said nothing, but then Caesar’s guard Lucius Aelius raised a finger to point at her.  
You, Courier? Caesar’s face was a picture of disbelief.  
I did throw a knife intending to hit Vulpes Inculta, but unfortunately, I seem to have missed. I’m not sure if that one is it, Lord Caesar.  
It is. I saw her throw it, Master, said Lucius Aelius quietly. I believe she _was_ looking at Inculta.  
Caesar stared bullets at the Courier.  
It is truly a blessing from Mars that you are unhurt, Lord Caesar, the Courier said, testing her acting skills considerably. My poor skills have brought me shame. Please accept my humblest apologies.  
She bowed very low.  
No matter, said Caesar, closing the knife and tossing it back to the spy, who caught it with one bloodied hand. You have only a feeble woman’s throwing arm, and no concept of spatial awareness. I recommend you avoid using weapons in future, Courier. Stick to dancing as you did this morning. He grinned at the still-seated guests.

What she had done in the arena to protect herself from Ranger Stella was hardly dancing, but nonetheless, the Courier smiled gracefully and bowed low again.  
Your mercy is generous, Lord Caesar, she said.

Which it was. For a second there, she had fully intended to kill him, and damn the consequences. Though in this case, ‘mercy’ was more than a little coloured with ‘underestimation’; and ‘generous’ was, in the light of that, ‘unwise’.

At least the fight between the Legate and the spy was over, and the seated guests breathed easier. All of the participants looked a little battered, but the spy was definitely the worse for wear. Lanius had a diagonal cut on his neck, but it wasn’t deep. The spy’s face looked like he’d just done ten rounds in the ring.

Siddown, fuck’s sake! Caesar barked at everyone. I have some excellent news to announce, he continued once everyone was seated. Thanks to Vulpes Inculta for formulating the plan, and his loyal frumentarii for executing it, the Legion now controls the power station HELIOS ONE, and the NCR are experiencing blackouts in Freeside and New Vegas city! Hail the Legion!  
Hail! everyone shouted.  
Hail Caesar! Lanius shouted, standing up and saluting his master.  
Hail! the room thundered, saluting.  
Caesar yelled something in Latin, got an equally raucous response, then said in a normal voice, Dismissed, the lot o’ ya. Go on, get outta here. I got a headache. He walked off towards his private quarters, turning to say over his shoulder, And no more fighting. If you gotta fight, don’t fight over a woman. Stupidest thing you can fuckin’ do, he grumbled, disappearing behind his door. The guests dispersed into the night.

For the second time that night, the Courier found herself conceding agreement with one of Caesar’s ideas. Fighting over a woman was indeed pretty damn stupid. 

It was on the short walk back to the Legate’s tent that Lanius started to shake. 

At first it was just a small tremor. Then, in the sanctum of their bedroom, Lanius found that he couldn’t unbuckle his armour properly. His fingers couldn’t seem to grip the tough leather straps.

Noticing his difficulty, the Courier came close. She took his quivering hand in hers, and knew immediately what it was. _Tremble_. 

The Courier said nothing, just helped the Legate with his buckles and lifted the heavy plated armour off him. The shaking was getting worse, fast. His legs were shaking too now. The Courier pushed him to the bed, where he half-fell on it, full body spasms now juddering his huge frame. 

What is happening, he gasped.  
The Courier didn’t answer. She scrabbled amongst her things for her thick brahmin-hide belt, rushing to yank it free from the loops of her shorts. It came free and she put the belt in his mouth, over his tongue.  
Bite down hard on this, my lord.  
He did his best to bite down, panting and quaking. His eyes were frantic and his skin was in a cold sweat.  
The Courier spoke calmly and soothingly, betraying no hint of the tumultuous mixture of fear and fury she felt inside.  
Lanius, I think you are having a seizure. It should pass soon, my love. Stay calm, let it happen and wait it out. It will pass. You will be alright again soon.

She couldn’t stay close to him as his arms and legs were jerking violently and she risked getting knocked flying. From a safe distance, she kept on murmuring her soft encouragements to him, and the fear in his eyes lessened a fraction, but the shaking did not subside.

What felt like aeons went by. Probably only a minute or two. The convulsion did not subside. It seemed to worsen. The Legate’s eyes were starting to roll back in his head, and his breathing became a choked gurgle. The Courier wondered desperately which course of action to take. Continue to wait and see? Bring his men in to help? Run to the spy and force him on pain of death to reveal how long the effects would last, what else might happen, and to give her the antidote - if any existed?

But the spy must know this is happening. He would be expecting her, she realised. Blood red fury swept over her at the thought of him sitting in his tent, waiting, smirking like a shitheel, planning who knows what. She wanted so badly to murder Inculta her fingers twitched.

She decided to call for help from Titus and Lucius to watch over the suffering Legate while she went to murder the spy - when suddenly the poison’s effect began to abate. As she watched, his pupils slid back into their proper positions. The toothmarked leather belt fell out of his mouth. With remarkable swiftness, the seizure left him, motionless but panting shallowly, collapsed on his bed.

After a few moments, the Legate sat up, and looked around. He reacquainted the deeper corners of his lungs with oxygen. He looked like himself again. The Courier approached and took his hand again, comforted to find it was now still. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, with his usual strength. She breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He looked at her, and she looked steadily back at him, reaching up to stroke his hair.  
You had me going for a moment there, Lanius. Are you yourself now?  
He nodded, and said quietly, That has never happened to me before. What was it? Have you ever experienced such a thing?

A concussion can cause a seizure, the Courier said. I saw you take what looked like a fairly heavy hit on the head today in the arena. Perhaps it caused a small swelling to the brain, and led to a misfire in your synapses.  
She stroked his forehead and ran her thumb gently along his thick black eyebrow.

The Legate took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The onset of the shaking had been alarming. Feeling it intensify until he had no control over his own body had been terrifying. He hadn’t felt such a surge of indescribable fear ever before. The immediate fright was gone now, but it had left an adrenaline hangover.  
Will it happen to me again, he wondered aloud.  
I don’t think so, the Courier reassured him. I’ve seen it happen to a friend once before, years ago, and it was scary as hell at the time, but it never happened again. Some sleep will make you feel better, my lord Lanius. Come. Let’s lie down together.  
She got up and turned the wick down on the lamp, darkening the room to a pleasant dim red glow. 

The Legate stripped his tunic off, and sat for a moment on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. 

Then he took another long breath, and lay down on his back in the centre of the bed, staring into space with knitted brows. The Courier removed her party dress, folded it carefully as she had to return it tomorrow, and lay down on her side, snuggled up close to him. He enfolded her in one heavy arm. She rested her head on his shoulder, and stroked the warm skin and soft fur of his chest, placing slow, gentle kisses on his breast. Soon she heard his heartrate slowing, and felt him begin to relax.

I’ll take care of you, she murmured between her tender kisses.

And tomorrow, she would take care of that goddamned venomous spy.


	13. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulpes butters the Courier's toast, but doesn't get first bite.

At some time in the small hours the Courier woke in darkness. It was cold and quiet. She couldn’t hear Lanius breathe. She sat up, alarmed and reaching for him, dreading that her hand would find a lifeless body. 

Not there. His side of the bed was empty and only faintly warm.

Then she heard a quiet voice in the next room say something in Latin. Another voice replied softly, _certe_. Neither was Lanius’ voice. His guards, possibly. She sat up, eyes wide in the darkness, straining all her senses for information. There were some soft clinking and thudding sounds that she couldn’t positively identify.

The door opened and a silhouetted Lanius came through, backlit by a low lamp. He approached, looming over her, and seeing her awake, spoke in a normal voice.   
Courier. My men and I are leaving now to survey the battleground. We will return tomorrow by dusk. I trust you will take care of yourself in my absence. Or do you need me to leave a man to guard you?  
Taken by surprise, the Courier thought for a moment. Let me come with you, sire. I can be ready in one minute.  
No, Courier. I cannot take that risk yet.  
I will be no risk, I assure you. I’ll keep the pace up, and my head down.

Lanius was a spiked black shape in the cool darkness, but his deep voice was warm and spoke of fondness.   
The risk is not from you, Courier. Nor to you. It is the possibility of separation. I will not risk losing you to the wastes. You will stay here and await my return. Do you wish me to leave a guard for you?  
No, sire, thank you. Your men should be with you. I can rely on myself.   
I believe you can.   
She heard the smile in his voice. He lifted his mask off and bent down to kiss her full on the lips, lingering a pleasurable time before straightening, looking down at her for another moment, then donning his helmet and walking out.

She was left alone in darkness, moist from the sensual kiss. She listened to the men’s footsteps fade away. In the hush that followed, the Legate’s tent suddenly didn’t feel very secure. 

Two days alone in a tent in the centre of a Legion camp. It wasn’t that she minded solitude per se; but this was solitary confinement.

She would probably be viewed by the legionaries as a hen in the foxhouse. Ignorant of how hard she could peck, they would take the opportunity to bait and harry her. Best to avoid confrontation altogether, lest it escalate to the point of Caesar taking notice - the result of which couldn’t be predicted but would unquestionably be bad. The risk could be minimised, at least, by staying in and keeping to herself. She would venture out only once, she decided, first thing in the morning, to the mess tent to get two day’s worth of jerky, and then stay inside the Legate’s tent, maybe even dig a hole in the ground in a corner to pee in.

A pity she hadn’t brought something to study on this trip, never imagining she would stay so long. 

That thought led to remembering the enticing bookshelf in the spy’s tent. She had planned to take revenge on that interfering pest today. Was that still wise? Her bloodlust had lessened after a night’s sleep, as it so often did. Perhaps instead, she should superficially mend the bridge with him, and borrow a couple of books. 

After all, it was never a bad idea to let revenge sit and cool on the windowsill.

She thought of her lover, Lanius. His booming voice, that towards others was imperious but towards her was imbued with warmth. His huge hands, capable of terrible brutality, but when touching her so gentle. His face hidden to all, but underneath the mask, those sensuous eyes and so-kissable lips. 

Extraordinary, how unpredictable life was. Making her offer of tribute she had hoped, against likelihood, that they would find each other tolerable enough not to descend to murder. She had never imagined they could begin to fall in love. 

The night air was chilly. She pulled the covers up to her neck, and warmed herself with thoughts of kissing Lanius until she fell asleep again.

* * *

After sun-up, war drums began reverberating through the camp, dogs barked in response, and she woke again, groggy from too little sleep, having to take a moment to remember why Lanius wasn’t there. 

Her mouth was dry, so she got out of bed, shivering a little as the cool morning air touched her bare skin, went to the pitcher and poured a metal goblet full of water, swigging it down thirstily. Legion water was hauled up from the lake in rusty buckets, and never tasted pure, but this water tasted stale and slightly odd. Ashy, almost. She looked in the cup, but didn’t see anything. Perhaps the unglazed clay pitcher had leeched a weird taste into the water overnight, she thought. Or perhaps the spy is trying to poison me now, haha. He wouldn’t dare.

…or would he. She sniffed the cup. It did smell slightly weird, metallic and somehow smoky, but to her relief there was no trace of the distinctive leafy scent of white horsenettle. 

Stop being paranoid, she told herself firmly, walking back to bed. More sleep is what you need.

Do you know how he kills them? a voice behind her asked.   
The Courier wheeled around, to find the very man standing right there in her bedroom, a macabre open-eyed dead-dog headdress on, as though his face was in the gaping maw of the dog. He was bruised from last night’s fight, and there were small dark-blooded scabs forming on his eyebrow and lip, but he stood comfortably as though he felt nothing. His knuckles had been rinsed of blood and dirt. His knees were very dirty, though. 

Get out.   
She said it slowly, full of threat. It was not: ‘Would you mind leaving please, person I am naturally alarmed by?’ It was closer to: ‘Get the fuck out before I gut you and make sausages for the dogs’. 

But the spy, apparently, heard ‘Have a seat’. He showed no awareness of threat. Instead, he casually moved over to a chair, and sat down with his dirty knees spread obnoxiously wide and his nefarious hands resting lightly on the tops of his thighs, not between the thighs subconsciously protecting his crotch or folded defensively in front of his chest or waist as men tended to do in her presence. He sat as still and ready as a nightstalker, watching his prey.

The Courier considered her options. She stepped over to her pack, and put on her recon suit. Dressing in front of his watching eyes felt a little humiliating, a fact he was no doubt gleefully aware of. But she considered it was better to dress than to try to fight him naked, or to go back to bed, either of which he might take as an invitation. 

Dressed, she reached into one of the suit’s thigh pockets, unsheathed her serrated hunting knife, and holding it in a relaxed grip, pointed the well-maintained blade at him.  
Get out of my fucking tent, she growled, a snarl curling her lip on the ‘f’.

The spy took out his own knife, a thin black-handled switchblade, flicked it open and toyed with it. He sniffed the blade in exaggerated fashion, and quirked an eyebrow at her. Did you have fun last night? he asked coyly.  
Oh, it was hilarious. Fuck off. Get out.  
Did you like watching Lanius crumble in front of you?  
I said get out.  
Do you know how he kills them, Courier?  
I don’t fucking care. Get out.  
Do you know what I did last night, Courier?  
Again, don’t care. Get. Out.  
I found your girl Beale. He elongated the ‘ee’ sound in her name. Beeeeale. Holding the Courier’s eye contact, he reached forward to brush at the dirt on his knees, the suggestion umistakeable.  
The Courier’s heartrate jumped. _Don’t bite,_ she warned herself. _Stay frosty. Don’t engage._  
Good for you. Get out.  
She didn’t take it well, Courier. The spy put a look of faux-sorrow on his handsome, despicable face.

The Courier said nothing. He was slicing at her most accurately. The edges of her vision were turning red in involuntary reaction, just as he intended. She stroked the handle of her knife with her index finger, feeling the familiar texture, and made herself breathe slowly. 

I did all the things to her that you have denied me, Courier.   
Are you trying to make your cruelty my fault? the Courier snapped, then bit down on her tongue. It was a mis-step to let him see that he was getting to her. It would only serve to encourage him, she knew.   
You’re disgusting, she said in a low voice. And get out, by the way. She jerked the point of her knife towards the door.  
The spy made a show of looking wounded by her words. She is still alive, he said; as though that were counter-evidence of his kindliness and charity.   
What a gentleman, the Courier snarled.  
I am. Thank you, he nodded. Whereas Lanius breaks their necks, Courier. He ends them in a single movement. It costs him no effort, not a second thought. He snaps them like twigs, and tosses them aside. They receive no burial. Their bodies are dragged away by other slaves to be fed to dogs.

Get out. Her voice was whisperier than she intended. He was stabbing sharp holes in her psyche, with practised efficiency.  
And can you guess why, Courier? Why he does it?   
Getting no reply, he continued: Because he can’t bear the thought of a woman having anyone after him. His ego is that fragile. Pathetic. He is so afraid of being cuckolded that he murders before it can happen. He is _afraid_. The spy spat the word out as though it were foul-tasting.  
Still the Courier said nothing.  
More than a thousand women. Wouldn’t you like to punish him for all those murders, Courier? Simple. Do the thing he most deserves. Cuckold him.

The Courier took a long breath. She didn’t let herself focus too much on the spy’s words, instead concentrating on feeling the grooves in the handle of her knife. Her fingers felt wrong, though. Too sensitive. The grooves felt too delineated, more than they actually were.

No, she said. I will not do that. Your motivation to see the Legate cuckolded is that you are jealous of him, nothing more. I’m not interested in your game, spy. Don’t bother asking me again. Now get out.

She licked her dry lips and noticed that they too felt sensitive. The sensation of her tongue on them was almost sensual. Something was wrong. She stared at the spy, and he looked too vivid. His eyes were too bright, his lips were too red, the dog headdress looked like it might be going to bark. She saw the veins on his hands in intricate pattern, a map in blue on a pale glowing background. The black dirt sickles under his fingernails were smiling at her. 

You have poisoned me, she said slowly.  
Silently, he watched her.  
She looked at her own hands, waiting for tremors. There were none. This wasn’t _Tremble_ , it seemed. Something else. 

Every part of her body was growing alive, heightening in sensation. She could sense the tiniest movements of air gliding past, caressing her face. She thought she could see the individual molecules in the air. Or perhaps they were molecules of the moisture on her eyes. Inside her mouth her tongue was noticing the shapes of her teeth as though for the first time. Her skin tingled. The recon suit pressing lightly against her erect nipples was almost too much. Her hand involuntarily went to her throat, and she felt her pulse throb in time with the hypnotic sound of the camp’s war-drums. Her neck felt strange, as though she had never been aware of its dimensions or texture before. As though she were feeling a new body, and in turn a stranger was touching her. Between her legs, she was hyper-aware of her most sensitive parts becoming over-stimulated just by proximity to each other. 

She backed away from the spy, shocked to find that the action of walking two steps made her excited clitoris send thrills of delight throughout her pelvis.

Get out! She pointed the knife at the spy again.  
I don’t think that is wise, Courier. You need me here. You have drunk the smoked pollen of the Sacred Datura blossom. Do you feel your feminine parts arouse? Over the course of the next hour you will become so sexually exhilarated that you will be quite unable to control your sexual behaviour. You will become a feral bitch in heat. You will search, in increasing desperation, for something to satisfy yourself.  
He glanced around the room, and shook his head.   
Nothing sufficiently phallic in shape here, Courier. A shame. Your need will overwhelm you, soon. You will become frantic for release, but nothing will satisfy you. Your fingers will not suffice. As each minute goes by, you will have a more uncontrollable urge to be penetrated, as deeply as possible. You will crawl out of this tent, on your hands and knees in the centre of the camp with your legs apart, begging every passing legionary to satisfy you, and they will try, but you’ll still want more. 

No… she said, raising her hands to her head. Her hair felt like the softest velvet sliding through her fingers. The drumbeat filling the air seemed to come in visible waves, sweeping right through her body, making her sway in time. Her sex thrummed. The spy looked so devilish, lounging in front of her. Devilishly handsome. No! She closed her eyes. Immediately magical patterns and fractals engulfed her, offering unknowable secrets, a plunge into another dimension, and she had to open her eyes again before she spun into space. 

The spy’s lips moved alluringly as he spoke. She wanted to taste them. She wanted to explore his mouth with her tongue, and he to explore hers. She wanted him to press those lips to her skin, to encircle her nipples with them, to lick her body all over.   
Yes, he was saying. You feel it starting already, don’t you? The urgency growing inside you. Unquenchable need. Ungovernable desire. You need me, Courier. I can keep you safe.

How long does this last? She struggled to put the sentence together. The room shimmered around her. Shivers were running up and down her whole body, and, between her legs, her inflamed sex pulsed out that primal beat, so intensely he must surely feel it across the room. 

Don’t worry, my beautiful Courier, he answered in a voice like honey. It will be over well before your master returns. By this time tomorrow morning, the effects of the pollen will begin to subside. But will you still have your dignity by then? Your virtue is in grave danger, Courier, but I can protect you. Let me help you. I can give you what you need, for as long as you want, discretion assured.  
No, get out, she panted.   
Very well. He got up, smiling faintly. I will wait for you in the next room. I will come when you call for me, very soon, my sweet, helpless Courier. I will come for you.   
The way his forked tongue curled around the word _come_ , there was no doubt what he meant.

The spy walked out, and she was left alone, flooded with pre-orgasmic feeling, hyper-aware of every sensation, the room illuminated in glowing colours and patterns all around her. 

She floated to her bed and lay down. The desire for orgasm was overwhelming. She needed to sate the desire. Her fingers moved over her breasts, pinching her firm nipples through her suit, sighing in pleasure. Her hands stroked down her midriff, leaving trails of goosebumps all the way. She opened her suit, and let one hand glide down to her sex, the other tickling its way back up to her breast. Her clitoris was so swollen, the folds surrounding it ultra-sensitive and slick with natural lubricant, wetter than she had ever been. She touched herself so lightly that normally she might barely have felt it but now, under the phenomenal effects of the Sacred Datura blossom, that light touch was enough to make her moan aloud, not caring if anyone heard. 

You can wait this out, the still-sane part of her mind said. She needed satisfaction, yes, urgently in fact, but shouldn’t need a man to satisfy her. Just spend twenty-four hours in this delightfully soft bed, masturbating to the sound of wardrums, whilst hallucinating fractals. How hard can that be? Her fingers stroked up and down in her wetness. One finger, then another, slipped inside herself, the sensation blissful. She gave another long, low moan as slow tides of pleasure swept through her.

Soon, her fingers weren’t enough. She found herself doing just what the spy had predicted, casting around the room for something to reach deeper. Each wave than swept through her, she became more desperate. She intensely needed to feel something opening her wide, filling her deeply and forcefully, something powerful and unrelenting, something like the Legate. 

The Datura spoke up. _There is a man in the very next room. A man who knows how to keep a secret. A filthy, sexually-obsessed man who could fill you and service you to your heart’s content. A handsome man with a long, hard cock, cloaked in the silkiest skin. You felt it, remember? Against your hand, the same hand that is pleasuring you now. You felt it, and you liked it._

No, she whispered. Her fingers ghosted over and around her inflamed clitoris, unbearably close to orgasm but tortured by inability to reach it. It was right there, but she couldn’t get there.  
The Datura said, _He has the power bring you there. He has what you need. No one will know. How good he felt when you touched him in his tent. His cock was so hard for you. So hot to your touch. So thick, long and strong. He will reach the place you need so badly to have reached. Call to him._

The Courier thrust her slippery fingers inside her yearning entrance, but she couldn’t reach the place. She had to reach it. She could think of nothing else but reaching it.  
Vulpes? she heard herself whisper.   
Stop that! her still-sane mind said.  
 _Call him again, he will help,_ the Datura said. _His hard cock is all you need. It’s right there, waiting, ready to fill you, to satisfy you. You need it so badly. Call him._  
Vulpes? she whispered again.   
No! her still-sane mind urged. This is a trick! You mustn’t give in!

There were voices in the next room. Deep male voices, arguing in Latin. She heard the spy say something sharply, in an irritated tone, there was a gruff reply, then the door of her bedroom opened and two of Caesar’s Praetorian guards entered.   
Courier. Caesar summons you.

Simply explain to Caesar that she is unwell, the spy said to them from behind. There was a hard edge to his voice, but the guards ignored him and approached her.   
Get up, one of them ordered.   
She looked at the guard speaking. He had a spiky mohawk, she wanted to touch it. He wore dark glasses, and she wanted to take them off and bathe in his gaze. His skin glowed bronze. She wanted to lick it and taste the salt. He wore a cloak dyed the most brilliant red. He was beautiful. Her eyes ran down to his crotch. How big was his cock underneath there, she wondered. Any size would do, though. 

She does look sick, the other guard observed. He reached down and touched her forehead. I think she has a fever.  
Yeah, well she’s going to Caesar and he can decide what to do with her, Mohawk said. He gripped her under one arm and hefted her up. Together, the two men got her to her feet and helped her walk out of the tent, the spy following behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Since the archive is currently suspending new memberships I have temporarily opened comments from non-members.  
> 2\. Thank you again to all regular readers <3


	14. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three go mad on pollen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caesar-sex, as requested by AllergictoThyme!  
> Beware, readers of a gentle nature - this chapter gets pretty hardcore at moments (fisting, human sacrifice, no one gets any cups of tea... I'm not kidding) 

The sky outside was a stunningly rich blue. The Courier’s eyes opened wide, trying to absorb the blue colour into her somehow, to merge with it. The air swirled tantalisingly around her face, the scent of it a fascinating mixture of elements, and the pebbles in the ground pressed into her feet as she walked like an obscure musical rhythm. She wanted to focus on all these things, to spend hours considering them, but she couldn’t because the men pulled her forward. The motion of walking stimulated her almost agonizingly, each step an approach to orgasm, journeying to nirvana but never reaching it. 

The men were holding her by the arms, one on each side. Their hands were warm and strong.  
The Datura said, _Ask them to penetrate you as you walk. One of them could carry you impaled on his cock, just like Lanius does. That would feel good, so good._  
Distantly, the still-sane part of her mind was calling to her. This is dangerous. They are taking you to Caesar. Get it together. You must wake up.

Caesar lounged on his spear-festooned throne, and continued talking to someone else while the Courier was deposited before him. She sank to her hands and knees, then sat back on her heels, legs apart slightly to ease the pressure on her throbbing clitoris.

She tried to stay very still, and not to pant too obviously. Caesar was speaking to a centurion she recognised from the previous night’s party. From her low angle, Caesar’s spread-kneed pose almost allowed her to see right up to his manhood. Only his hand, draped casually between his legs, blocked her view. What was in there, she wondered. Something hardenable? She found herself leaning a little sideways, trying to see past his hand.

The treacherous spy took up a standing position to Caesar’s right. He stared very hard at the Courier, trying to catch and hold her eye. 

She could not be caught, too busy noticing everything about the Legion’s great leader that she hadn’t appreciated before. He was white-haired, an older man, but in fine condition for his age. His clear eyes framed by tanned crow’s feet told of knowledge and experience; his hard-muscled physique spoke of long-held strength, a dynamic man who had been in action all his life. His pose was relaxed but his aura emanated immense power. Attractive, the Courier thought. _Sexy,_ the Datura said.

She couldn’t see past his hand, but the hand itself was interesting. Broad palm and fingers. Hard-looking knuckles. Brown, sunbaked skin. Thick veins.  
The Datura said, _How good those experienced hands would feel on your skin; caressing you, arousing you, inside you_.

Next to her the centurion stood sharply to attention, saluted, and strode out.

The Mohican guard announced her. The Courier, lord Caesar.

Caesar studied the Courier’s kneeling form.  
She seems to have learned some humility, at least, he eventually observed.  
She was still admiring his hand, not really paying attention to his words.  
Why are you still alive, he mused. No answer was forthcoming.  
Courier! Caesar said forcefully. Why are you still alive?!  
Answer, Mohawk said, tapping her cheek with the back of his hand.  
I.. please… Lanius, she replied to the angular muscles of Caesar’s calves. Her tongue wasn’t compliant and the words came out slurred.  
What did she say? Caesar asked Lucius Aelius, who stood to his left.  
She said she pleases the Legate.  
Humph. One wonders what she is doing that no woman has done before.  
The men chuckled as if this was a joke.

Caesar slouched sideways, resting his jaw on one fist, gazing pensively at the Courier.  
After a while he said, The second question is, what could the infamous Courier be getting out of this arrangement? Tell me why you volunteered yourself to him, Courier. Look at me when I speak to you, woman.  
His pitch was quiet, but the menace was clear.

The Courier was struggling to pay him any attention, sitting very still and concentrating instead on the duel being fought in her head between the still-sane part of her mind and the part controlled by the Datura. The Datura was gaining.

 

She dragged her eyes up to Caesar’s face, but got distracted again, this time by his many-coloured eyes and the incredible contrast between his brown skin and silver hair.  
You are testing my patience, Courier. Answer my question.  
The Courier took a deep breath, and noticed the lush black fur draped around Caesar’s broad shoulders. She wondered what it would feel like to rub herself against it. 

Speak, woman, Lucius Aelius said in a warning tone. The Courier registered it, but couldn’t remember how to react. Lucius had a moisteningly sexy voice when he was being commanding, she thought instead. The reverberation seemed to go straight through her clitoris. Say something else in that sonorous voice, she willed him.  
Caesar, annoyed, sat up straight, dropping his fist into his lap and finally catching the Courier’s eye. There were dark rope bindings twisted around rich red cloth adorning Caesar’s forearm. Bondage, the Courier thought. _Let him bind you with those ropes,_ the Datura said.

Lucius walked up to her, gripped her head to force her to look at Caesar and growled close to her ear, When your master speaks to you, you will look at him, and you will respond.  
The Courier made a huge effort to try to ignore the immediate effect his close physicality made on her heated body. She tried to focus on working out what they seemed to be expecting from her. Lucius’s strong hands gripping her head felt enticingly harsh, sensually brutish. What was Caesar’s question again? Something about Lanius, yes, why he wanted her, or she him.  
Lanius… she began. _…has a beautiful cock,_ the Datura finished for her. Stop that, she told it. Focus. But it was so hard to form words.  
Lanius is… She licked her hungering lips. …the man I want because… he is the most… impressive man… I have ever…

Caesar snorted derisively. Impressive he is, Courier, but that’s bullshit all the same because you volunteered yourself to him before you’d even met him. There are plenty more believable theories floating around to explain your motive. Lanius thought you wanted to kill him. You don’t seem to have yet, so let’s leave that one. Lucius here thinks you want to influence him, to moderate his behaviour and persuade him to your way of thinking. Good luck with that, Courier! Ha!  
He let out a barking laugh, and his guards snickered along with him.  
No one ‘moderates’ Lanius, Caesar said, shaking his head. He cannot be softened, cannot be redirected. No one has his allegiance but me. He killed his own fucking tribesmen for fuck’s sake. You might as well try to temper a charging bull. That’s why I chose him.  
The Datura contrived to hear only the words ‘fucking’ and ‘a charging bull’. The Courier’s thoughts swirled like dust in the sunlight. Fucking a charging bull. She gazed at Caesar’s tunic. Rich blood red. She was the bull, and he was the red rag. She wanted to charge him. He was the bull, armed with horns. She wanted him to impale her.

Vulpes has another theory, Caesar went on. He thinks you have ambitions to create a dynasty with Lanius, to raise sons that will conquer even greater empires. I’d be happy enough with that, if that was the case, Courier. But I don’t think it is. I have my own theory. I don’t think you have any grand plans. I don’t think your ambitions are anything more than whorish. I think you decided you wanted Lanius the moment I described his size. You’re the Wasteland’s biggest whore, and you want to ride the Wasteland’s biggest cock. All you really want is nothing more than to be fucked by that gargantuan cock all day and all night. Isn’t that right, Courier? 

There was silence around the room. Caesar sat back, looking triumphant. All eyes were on the Courier, waiting for her response.  
Caesar knew it wasn’t true, he was just taunting her in retribution for her flicking a knife his way the previous night; yet right then it actually was true - the Courier definitely did want to be riding Lanius’ gargantuan cock. All day and all night. But he was far away. There were other cocks in this room, however. She glanced around, counting. Five beautifully muscled men, adorned in red. Two more in the entranceway area. Seven available penises surrounding her, and only one vagina, hers, all wet and ready. More than ready. Hungering. Why didn’t they stop talking and get to work? _Just tell them what you need, and they will satisfy you,_ the Datura said.

The Courier spread her knees wider on the dirt floor, swaying back and forth a little and breathing raggedly through her mouth. Her sex pulsed. She would soak through her suit if they kept her like this, unsatisfied and desperate to be touched. Thoughts of how well Lanius filled her made shivers of pleasure sweep over her. She imagined him entering her, and made a soft grunt aloud as he hilted in her fevered imagination.

She doesn’t seem normal, Lucius said, turning her head to peer into her wide eyes. And she feels hot.  
Vulpes said he thought she was unwell, lord Caesar, Mohawk said.  
I see that, Caesar said, eying her up and down. What is wrong with you, Courier?  
The Courier opened her mouth wider but no words come out, just panting breaths and another soft moan of need.  
Are you feverish? I cannot have you infecting my Legate with a communicable disease, Courier.  
I don’t believe it is communicable lord Caesar, said the spy smoothly. I would say it is merely a passing weakness, brought on by dehydration and yesterday’s exertions. She needs only to drink water and rest. Let me take her back to the Legate’s tent.  
Thank you, Doctor, said Caesar sardonically. He waved his hand in the direction of the room behind the throne. Take her to the autodoc and secure her, he said to Mohawk. And don’t let her cough on you.

Mohawk and the other guard lifted her again and walked her through to the room behind, which turned out to be Caesar’s bedroom. There were richly patterned Persian carpets on the floor, and an autodoc positioned at the foot of a huge bed. 

It was no ordinary autodoc. They weren’t usually equipped with stirrups. Caesar had modified it in a disturbingly gynaecological-looking way. There was an attachment that looked like it was ready to perform an alien probe on a patient. Mohawk and the other guard unzipped her recon suit and hauled her out of it. She tried to help, pleased to let her feverish skin touch fresh air. They laid her down in the bed, still in her underthings, and brought out heavy leather straps from the frame underneath the bed which they buckled securely onto her wrists. 

To none of this did she protest. She was tripping so hard that all this was a dream, and she was merely watching from the sidelines. A strange, magical, sexy, frustrating dream, where she was surrounded by attractive men and all she wanted was for them to satisfy her, and they weren’t obliging.

The guards left, and Caesar and Lucius Aelius came into the room. Lucius stood to the side, feet planted apart and hands held loosely behind his back. A soldier’s pose, used to waiting.

Caesar dragged a large metal chest out from under the bed, and opening it, selected a wide range of familiar and mysterious medical implements, placing them onto the autodoc’s metal tray in a neat line.  
I can’t have you infecting my Legate with your dissolute diseases, Courier, he said, stretching thin latex gloves onto his hands. The Courier shivered at the anticipation of his touch.

He pressed the pads of his fingers firmly into the flesh under her jawbone, then around to the back of her neck. Each press felt divine to the suffering Courier. 

Caesar extended a thin arm from the autodoc and activated a bright light to shine from its tip. He held her eyelids wide open and shone the light into her eye.  
Your pupils are dilated, Courier. Have you consumed some sort of drug?  
She didn’t answer, because the Datura had too much control of her tongue now and if she said a word it would be to beg him to enter her.

Open your mouth, he said, reaching for a metal device amongst his tools. She complied and he put the device between her teeth and cranked her mouth wider open. It prevented her from clamping down. With the aid of the torch, he peered into her mouth, using his finger to lift her tongue, then lightly press it down.  
Nice and healthy, he murmured. You still have all your teeth, uncommon for a profligate.  
The Courier gazed at him, her mouth fixed wide open. _He might put his cock in it,_ the Datura said hopefully, _And let you taste his cum_. Caesar unscrewed the device and removed it. _Even better, now you can suck him,_ the Datura comforted.

Csesar’s hand caressed her chest, brushing lightly over the curve of her breast, hardening her nipples and goosebumping her torso.  
She’s a fine sight, said Lucius in a low voice.  
Caesar murmured agreement. He looked and felt in her armpits, making her squirm at the intense tickling sensation. He examined her for rashes, finding none, and inadvertently making her wetter than ever. He slowly massaged her belly, seeming satisfied with what he felt. Then he massaged her breasts, culminating with pinching her hard nipples. The sensation was breathtaking. The Courier, eyes closed and fractals swirling madly around her, moaned aloud. Caesar took a stethoscope and listened to her chest in several places.  
Your heart is racing, Courier. Are you excited by my touch?  
Yes, her hallucinating tongue said aloud before she could stop herself.

He clearly wasn’t expecting that, and paused for a moment, then leant forward to look deeper into her eyes.  
I’m… having… she said thickly, but found herself unable to finish the sentence, to pronounce ‘delusions’. _But it’s no delusion. Your fever is real. Your need is real. You need him inside you. Just one long deep fuck, and this fever will go. It’s all you need. Everything you need. Tell him._  
Having what? Caesar asked.  
An orgasm, I think, Lucius put in, chuckling. Almost a self-fulfilling prophesy, as his voice went straight to her swollen clitoris again, making it throb against the Legate’s medallion in her wet vulva.

Caesar stared at her for another moment, frowning at her mysterious, uncharacteristic behaviour. Then he lifted her feet up and secured her ankles into the stirrups, pushing them wide apart. He took a pair of surgical scissors and neatly snipped off her soaked underpants, pulling them out from under her and tossing them aside. Shamefully wet, engorged sex fully on display. Lucius stepped forward to get a better look, and made a low whistle. 

Caesar said slowly, What the fuck… Lanius pierced you?  
The Courier didn’t respond. Her eyes were half-closed and she was beginning to pant audibly. Caesar reached for and took hold of the medallion between finger and thumb, feeling its weight.  
Well, well. Gold. It seems our Legate likes the Courier a very great deal, Caesar mused. He tugged gently on it, prompting a soft cry from the Courier. He was so close to where she wanted him to be. She arched her back and tried to press herself against his hand.  
What is she doing? Lucius asked.  
Caesar did not reply. His latex-gloved hands began to probe her sex, still on the lookout for any signs of disease. His skilful fingers gently held her labia open and he inspected her for lesions, warts, pustules or any other signs of venereal infection. There was nothing adverse to find; she was only very excited and extremely wet.  
Nice and healthy, Caesar murmured again. He stroked a fingertip into the valley of ultra-sensitive nerves to one side of her swollen clitoris. The exquisite sensation forced a moan of tortured pleasure from the suffering Courier.

Experimentally, Caesar inserted his index finger inside her. The Courier winced, agonised by unfulfilled desire, and tried to grip onto his finger with her internal muscles, desperate to pull it in deeper. 

Caesar withdrew his finger. He replaced it with a long thin thermometer attachment on the same robotic arm as the little light, holding it inside her vagina for a count of twenty seconds, gazing at the glowing green readout on the autodoc.

What’s she got? Lucius Aelius asked, avidly watching Caesar slide out the thermometer from her interior.  
Caesar paused, then said pensively, Nothing. She is in perfect health.  
But she’s gone almost mute, and she’s breathing strangely.  
Yes.  
Drugs? Lucius suggested.  
Possibly, but she should have been thoroughly searched on her way in.  
Hidden in her arse, maybe. A profligate addict will stoop to that.  
Caesar shook his head. No, this woman is no addict. He ran his wetted finger lightly from her bellybutton down to her pubic hair, causing her to involuntarily arch her back again. Her hands jerked and strained at the leather wrist restraints, desperately trying to reach her clitoris to relieve her torment.  
Caesar pinched her nipple and she cried out in pleasure.  
She is phenomenally aroused, he said. She appears to be in a state of extreme sexual ecstasy.  
Well well, Lucius chuckled. Maybe she’s missing the Legate!  
Do you want to be fucked, Courier? Caesar asked.  
Yes. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, but the answer was unmistakeable.  
Oho! The excitement in Lucius’ voice was undisguisable. Fffuckkk, he breathed.

Caesar bent and retrieved a bottle of clear oil from the chest on the floor. He unscrewed it and poured a little out, putting the bottle down on the tray, and spread the oil all over his gloved hand. The whole hand, knuckles and all.  
Sing praise to Venus for your blessing, Courier, he said. You are going to receive a great honour. You are going to receive the Fist of Mars.

* * *

The Courier trembled and moaned as Caesar’s oiled hand pushed inside her. Her back arched and she jerked again and again at her restraints, not trying to escape, only trying to have her hands free so that she might pinch her own nipples and satisfy the craving at her clitoris.  
Gradually and inexorably, Caesar’s knuckles squeezed through her hungering entrance and he was inside her, enclosed in her fevered, shuddering body.  
Lucius moved close to watch. Fffuckkk, he sighed again, the ache of desire audible in every sound.  
Caesar made a fist inside her, and pushed in as far and as hard as he could. The Courier shook and gasped in response, sensation overwhelming her. Slowly, he drew his clenched fist out, stretching her stunningly.  
Fffuckkk, rasped Lucius, his untouched erection agonizingly hard now.  
Put your cock in her mouth, Caesar ordered. Lucius rushed to obey, tearing off his kilt and climbing up onto the bed next to the Courier’s head. He took her head in both hands and fed his twitching cock into her willing mouth, groaning at the sensation as she closed on him and sucked like a desert absorbing rain, her hot tongue licking wildly at the heavily veined underside of his manhood. He pushed a little deeper in and she moaned around his straining cock, the vibrations of her voice stimulating him even more.  
She looks good with your stiff cock in her mouth, Caesar admired. Go deeper, I want to see the Courier get her face properly fucked. I want to see her stuffed full of Legion cock.  
Lucius pushed in dangerously deep, in a way his wife hated and hit him if he tried to do, but the Courier didn’t choke, she took him and maintained the suction and tongue massage. Lucius pulled hallway out, then back in, fucking her as his lord requested and as he wanted nothing more than.  
Caesar was entering his hand into the Courier, as slim as he could make it, forming a fist inside her, punching her several times from inside then pulling his clenched fist out to watch her stretch as his knuckles emerged from her swollen folds. Each time he rammed her, she trembled and moaned, climax after climax ripping through her body. Each time he pulled out she climaxed again. It wasn’t really separate orgasms, it was wave after wave of one unquenchable, overwhelming, agonizingly beautiful orgasm.

Caesar worked methodically, never letting the Courier rest, fucking her till the spinning patterns in her eyes shattered into incomprehensible particles, swarming and spiralling dizzyingly.  
All that time we were imagining what the Courier looked like with Lanius’ titanic cock bulging into her, Caesar growled. Now we know. She looks fucking magnificent, doesn’t she?  
Uhh, Lucius panted. Yeah… she’s something alright. His balls felt so overfilled if he didn’t release some cum soon they might burst.  
My lord may I… uhh.. may I come in her mouth?  
Go right ahead, Caesar invited.  
Lucius groaned as cum gushed through his pulsing cock into the Courier’s gorgeously hot sucking mouth.  
Don’t spill a fucking drop, Courier, Caesar warned. He didn’t need to say it, she was devouring the Prateorian’s salty milk, swallowing everything and sucking Lucius’s throbbing erection in the hope of more.

The feeling of her flickering tongue on his oversensitive glans was too intense to bear and Lucius pulled out, breathing raggedly.

Caesar got up on the bed between her wide-apart legs. With his hand inside her, he pushed his erection into the palm of his hand and masturbated himself inside her, fucking her with hand and cock simultaneously. You like this, don’t you Courier, he murmured. You like being blessed with the fist of Mars. Mm? Soon you will be filled with the seed of Mars.  
The Courier didn’t answer, but he was right, she did love it. The feeling was indescribably sensual. She wanted everything Caesar was giving her and more, his hard fist swivelling inside her, his hot cock promising its simmering load of cum. 

Lucius watched Caesar fist and fuck the Courier’s swollen sex. He had never seen his master do this before, and he felt hugely excited but also shocked. What Caesar was confidently doing to the Courier was something Lucius had never even thought of trying. Yet Caesar seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and the Courier appeared to find it orgasmic. She was lost in passion, undulating her hips to grind against Caesar’s huge intrusion, pushing into him to assist him deeper in, whimpering with uninhibited sexual pleasure.

Caesar kept up the rhythm till he could hold off no longer and pulled his hand out of her leaving his cock inside to spurt burst after burst of cum into her orgasming canal, nine, ten, eleven forceful shots of overheated semen flooding her clenching interior.

He abruptly pulled out, a thick tendril of white cum trailing from her winking vaginal opening to the tip of his steaming cock.  
You want more, Courier?  
A soft, shuddering moan was all she could respond. She pulled at her restraints again.  
Let’s untie her, I don’t think she’s going anywhere, Caesar said. He and Lucius unbuckled the leather cuffs. Freed, her hands immediately went to her afflicted clitoris.  
I want to suck her tits, Lucius said.  
Good idea, Caesar said. He and Lucius stripped off and lay down on each side of her. They took a breast each into their mouths and suckled her, while she stroked her clitoris and kept her orgasm going strong. Right then, she couldn’t bear the idea of it ever ending.

The Courier was sweating. The two men sucked and licked at her salty skin, and Lucius leaned up to kiss her, rewarded with an eager response from the Courier, who sucked his tongue lustily. Lucius kissed her with growing fervour, his cock twitching to stiffness again. He reached down and rubbed his fingers into her soaked sex. Lucius could hardly believe what he had watched Caesar do to the Courier. But he wanted it so badly. He wanted to do what he had seen his master do.  
Can I fuck her? he asked.  
No, said Caesar. I can’t have you cumming in her cunt. Only Lanius and I have that right. But you can fuck her ass if you want. In fact, do it, I’d like to see that.  
Lucius felt his cock jump with excitement. He was going to cram his big cock into the Courier’s snug little asshole. Thrilled, he moved around to position himself between her legs.  
Use the oil, I don’t want her injured, Caesar said around a mouthful of her breast.  
Lucius poured a little of the oil onto his hand and rubbed it all over his cock, which hardened more in his hand. He pointed himself at her tiny puckered dent, and pushed, groaning with lust as he slid right in with ease. He hilted himself in her, looking down at the obscenely beautiful sight. She was stretching open her labia with one hand to rub her clit with the other. Her deep pink vagina beckoned him. Thrusting slowly in and out of her ass, he inserted a couple of fingers into her. She rewarded him with a moan of desire and a buck of the hips. Lucius spread the oil on his hand around to the back, across his knuckles. He could hardly contain his excitement – he was going to do something amazing. Something his wife would probably never speak to him again if he suggested. He would remember this forever, he thought. He copied what he had seen Caesar do, inserting his fingers in the narrowest shape he could manage, and gasped aloud at the pleasure of it when he saw his knuckles, one by one, disappear into her cum-slicked cunt, soon only his dark-haired wrist visible at her entrance. Carefully, he folded his fingers into a fist and pushed deeper. When he pressed against her limit she cried out and shuddered all over. Her spasm crushed his cock in her ass. He held his hand still, deep inside her, and pumped his cock firmly in and out of her ass, unaware that he was muttering curses aloud as he fucked the Courier in a way he would never have imagined possible, and would never now forget.

Caesar licked his way across her sweating chest to her other breast and sucked it, swirling his tongue around her hardened, sensitive nipple.

Neither man was aware that in kissing her mouth, and licking her sweat, they had infected themselves with trace elements of the Datura pollen. Not enough to send them into hallucinations, but enough to keep them sexually aroused for the whole rest of the day.

Mohawk poked his head into the room. Lord Caesar, he said, keeping his eyes down.  
What is it?  
Vulpes Inculta wishes to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.  
About what?  
Mohawk’s head disappeared, there were inaudible mutterings, then appeared again.  
About the Courier, my lord.  
Tell Vulpes, Caesar said in a voice loud enough for Vulpes to hear, That the Courier is not his business, and doesn’t he have more pressing matters to attend to, somewhere else! And I am not to be bothered again, by anyone, for anything, he ordered.  
Yes, my lord. Mohawk’s bowed head disappeared again.  
In the throneroom, the spy was already walking away, his mouth a hard line.

Lord Caesar, said Lucius, paused in his ministrations.  
Mm?  
Perhaps he wished to warn of the danger from Lanius. The Legate may not take this well. I have noticed he treats the Courier as a precious possession.  
Caesar stroked a thumb over the Courier’s full lips and she caught it in her teeth, licked the sensitive pad, then fellated the whole thumb.  
Lanius is my property and his possessions, however precious, are therefore also my property, Caesar said. He’s a big boy, he can take a disappointment once in a while.  
Lucius was not so sure about that, but he said nothing.

The day passed like a dream. The lovers took short rests, which comprised fondling the Courier and being licked by her until their balls filled again. Refreshed, they began again, in ever-changing positions. 

Caesar didn’t emerge from his private quarters until the next day. He and Lucius licked, sucked, fisted and fucked the hallucinating, orgasming Courier unendingly. Forgetting to eat or drink. Nothing but tasting her, feeling her, penetrating every part of her, coming in her till she overflowed. 

It was an orgy to befit a Roman emperor.

* * *

Early the next day, the Courier woke up with an appalling headache, distributed throughout her head but especially behind her eyes. Her vision was jagged, as though the scene in front of her had been roughly torn up and put back together not quite right. She blinked and shut her eyes against the light. Her arms rose, instinctively wanting to press her hands to her face, but halfway up her wrists jerked to a stop against chains linked to metal cuffs on her ankles. Worse, there was something around her neck, something heavy and alarming. A slave collar.

* * *

Just after midday, the Legate arrived back from his reconnaissance trip, and headed directly to his tent, looking forward to reuniting with his lover. 

In the bedroom, he stood still, looking at the emptiness. The Courier’s pack was still on the floor, open. She usually left it secured. The bed was rumpled. She usually left it tidy. The red dress was folded on a side table, unreturned to its lender. The most jarring note, though, was a clean-bladed hunting knife lying on the floor next to the bed. Her knife, usually kept sheathed in her recon suit. The suit was not there. She had drawn the knife, but not been able to use it, nor re-sheath it. The Legate stared at the knife, and felt a shadow pass coldly through him.

* * *

When the Legate walked into Caesar’s tent, fully armoured and accompanied by his guards, the Courier didn’t see him at first. Her eyes were closed tight against the painful light of day. She knelt next to Caesar’s throne, dressed in slave garb, chained at hand and foot, collared and gagged. Caesar had gotten sick of her arguments as to why she should be released, and taken the simple step of binding up her mouth. Caesar’s hand draped over the armrest of his throne and his fingers played in her hair. The Courier was trying to reduce her senses to nothing, but the brutal hangover hammering inside her head was unignorable.

When suddenly Lanius’ gravelly voice warmed her ears and she opened her squinting eyes to find him supplicated on one knee before the throne, sword planted into the ground like a crusader before the tabernacle, she felt such relief she could almost cry.

Lord Caesar.  
Good trip? asked Caesar.  
I saw everything I needed to see. We will be ready to move on the dam at within two weeks.  
That is very good news. You have your two weeks.

In the slits of his mask, the Courier saw Lanius’ eyes fall on her for a moment. She shrank her head away from under Caesar’s trailing fingers, and sent Lanius a message with her own eyes, pleading. _Rescue me_. 

Lanius raised his head and looked directly at Caesar. When he spoke his voice rumbled deep and his words were imbued with weight.  
Lord Caesar, I want my woman returned.  
That’s not going to happen, Caesar replied evenly, meeting his Legate’s eye.  
I have served you well. Lanius’ voice was distant thunder.  
You have, Legate, and you will be amply rewarded. But the Courier is mine. Do not ask for her again. He reached into a pocket, and tossed something glinting and gold to Lanius, who caught it with one hand and glanced at it, then back at Caesar. The Legate’s medallion, taken from the Courier’s sex. 

There was a long silence as the two men stared at each other. Lanius’s armoured fingers grasped tight on the hilt of the enormous Blade of the East. 

Lucius Aelius, next to Caesar, was tensed, ready to spring. Lanius’s own guards subtly shifted their stances, moving their hands nearer to their weapons. The Legate’s tarnished breastplate slowly rose and fell. 

Then Lanius, in what felt like slow motion to the watching Courier, got up, bowed his head in deference to his master, and turned away.  
No! the Courier screamed. Lanius! Don’t leave me here, I implore you! Lanius!  
At least, that’s what she tried to say. The bindings on her mouth prevented the words from properly forming, and all that she actually emitted were the vowel sounds. But her heartwrenching pain rang through the tent, heard by all.

Lanius didn’t look back. His step didn’t falter even as he heard the Courier beg him to come back for her. Walking tall and proud, he strode out of Caesar’s tent, showing no undignified haste, his guards falling into step behind him.

None of the Legate’s guards dared to look at him as they returned to his tent. They followed in mortified silence. The Legate had been shamed, by Caesar, the one and only man who had the power to do so. It was unspeakable.

At his tent, the Legate started packing up. Eventually ginger-haired Lucius Vorenus, the oldest and bravest of his guards, approached him. Are we leaving, sire?  
Yes. We return to my camp tonight, Lanius replied, his voice misleadingly normal. Lucius was not misled. He quietly gave orders to the other men, and they were packed up and climbing over the rocky path back towards the Legate’s camp within half an hour. No one spoke on the journey, but the longer the silence endured, the more unbearable the tension became.

When they approached the Legate’s camp, scouts saw his party and horns sounded. As they walked in the gates, his assembled army hailed their commander deafeningly, a sea of tanned, muscled arms raised in salute. The Legate and his guards strode mightily through the parting in the battalions. He betrayed no sign of his inner torment. 

Until he was in his own private quarters, where he proceeded to violently smash the room, kicking the table into the air and then in half, hacking at his bed with wild swings of the Blade of the East till it was in splinters, taking a supersledge and smashing a marble bust of the original Julius Caesar, another gift from Caesar, into powdery white fragments, finally pulling his helmet off his head and flinging it at the wall and letting loose a long, ferocious roar that made the thick veins on his massive neck bulge out, terrified his slaves and made his guards in the next room freeze, looking at each other with worried frowns.

Only when the room was all but destroyed did he hear a sob, and notice that in one dark corner there was a slave girl made ready for him, bound and kneeling in an infuriating parody of how the Courier had appeared at Caesar’s side. The girl was crying as silently as she could, shaking with fear.

He stared at her, considering the relief that tearing her to bloody pieces with his bare hands might bring. But the idea brought no relief. All it made him think of was the unprompted mercy that the Courier had shown towards the yellow-haired slave girl.  
Get her out of here, he muttered, appearing in the doorway and jerking his head back to indicate the girl behind him. Lucius made a signal to one of the other slaves, and the girl was hustled away from the devastation of the Legate’s room, her hiccuppy sobbing transforming from fear to relief.

It was time to eat but the Legate had no appetite. He retrieved his helmet and walked out, heading to the slave pens. There were a group of captured NCR soldiers in there, a roughly even mixture of males and females. He picked out the toughest-looking of the males, and issued orders for him to be brought to the sacrificial table in the centre of the camp.

The Legion troops gathered and knelt all around to watch in reverent silence as the fearsome Legate announced in a booming voice that the attack on Hoover Dam was imminent, and that to satisfy the bloodthirst of Mars and ensure their success, a soldier of the West would be dispatched to damnation. Then, using the Blade of the East, and observing all proper rituals, he performed a human sacrifice.

* * *

I want you to fuck me beautifully, like you did when we began, my lovely Courier, Caesar said, stroking her naked body in their bed. Wet and willing. Not this stiff body and dry cunt. He waved an irritated hand at her crotch, where the Mark of Caesar glittered, chained into her sex.  
I wish to be returned to the Legate, the Courier said for the hundredth time.  
And I have told you that that is not an option. I’m getting tired of repeating myself. Here are your options. You fuck me nicely, all wet and stretchy like I know you can do, or you don’t. But know that fucking me is your job, now, Courier. And the Legion has simple rules. You work, you eat. You don’t work, you don’t eat.

* * *

The Courier didn’t eat for two days. On the third day, she found out the practical answer to her theoretical ponderings of earlier in her stay at the camp. The pain of starvation proved ultimately unbearable.

When Caesar came to her that afternoon, she requested sex with him. Caesar smiled, and took her, for nearly two long hours, hard and merciless, making a point of permitting her no pleasure in return, not that she could have been able to find any, with the pains of starvation stabbing at her. She tried, nonetheless, to give pleasure to him, in the hope he would make good on his promise to feed her. When, finally, Caesar was sexually sated, he ordered a slave to immediately bring the Courier a bowl of brahmin curd generously drizzled with cazador honey. The finest luxury food the Legion camp could offer, and very nutritious. She devoured it in seconds, and spent time licking the bowl, desperate for every molecule of sustenance. 

After that, she worked, and she ate. It became apparent that the more effort she put into her work, the better quality her food reward was. A disinterested blowjob earned a piece of stale bread. Devoted lovemaking earned curd and honey. Caesar treated her tolerably, no actual torture beyond the sex. She tried to escape a few times, and he forgave her easily. It was only to be expected, he said fondly, each time she was dragged back. 

The Courier tried to look on the bright side, and view her situation as comparable to an arranged marriage - just as she had viewed her relationship with the Legate. But it wasn’t the same and she knew it. She had volunteered herself to the Legate, sacrificed herself for a worthy purpose, and even begun to love him. None of those were true of her current situation with Caesar.

She spent her days thinking of escape plans and trying not to think of the Legate. Trying not to remember how tenderly he had kissed her. Trying not to remember how he had walked away and forsaken her. The hurt made her ache.

* * *

Two weeks rushed past in frenzied war preparations at the Legate’s camp. The Legate got on with the tasks of planning the battle. He tried not to think of the Courier, during the course of each day. But once each day was done, he could think of nothing else. His loss, Caesar’s dishonour, the violence of his shame. It burned him like fire.

Relations with his guards slowly thawed in the days after the appalling humiliation at Caesar’s camp. They did not speak of it, until one evening as the Legate sat on the hill looking out to the setting sun. Lucius Vorenus and Titus joined him, and looked out too.  
You have not taken a woman since we returned, old friend, Lucius observed. He had never called the Legate ‘friend’ before, and Lanius noted it, but he said nothing. No woman stirred him anymore, there was nothing else to it.  
Lucius said, May I speak freely?  
Speak, said Lanius.  
Lucius kept looking at the horizon. When he spoke his words were quiet but intense.  
Caesar had no right to take the Courier. A gift once given cannot be reclaimed. He did you a great dishonour, and it angers me, and it grieves me.  
Me too, Titus said solemnly.  
Lanius said nothing, just stared out at the darkening sky.  
You know that we will fight for you through blood and death, Lucius said.  
Blood and death, Titus said.  
Lanius finally met and held his guards’ flashing eyes, and nodded gravely. 

They looked out towards the red skies of the West, in companionable silence. Their fealty was declared, in word and deed. No more needed to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am actually, really, getting near the end of this, at which point I will consolidate the whole thing into one massive chapter like the other stories in _Lanius_ are.  
>  2\. Therefore any comments will get incidentally removed in the process, so if anyone is dying to make a long and heartfelt comment (no one has so far so I'm not too worried heh) then I recommend appending it to Chapter 4 (the first part of 1001 Lanius Nights, which will change name also as I - obviously - haven't been keeping up with the Arabian Nights theme I started off with).   
> 3\. I'm thinking new title: "Honour, or Shame". Since that is what this fic has really turned out to be about. Opinions ~~welcome~~ grudgingly accepted ;)


	15. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier gives unto Caesar that which is not Caesar's; and the spy redeems himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to relent and throw fellow Vulpes fans a meaty bone :)  
> 

It was hard to keep track of the days, each was the same. The Courier would be woken early to spend the whole day in chains and slave collar, in and around Cesar’s bed, regularly expected to salve Caesar’s carnal desires. 

Lucius was only permitted to touch her on Caesar’s explicit say-so. Unfortunately Caesar gave his say-so very often, almost every day. He liked to ‘treat’ Lucius, and he liked to watch the Courier receive what Lucius gave her. He watched close up, his face often only six inches away from the action, sometimes going so far as to hold her head in place and control the precise orientation of her mouth around Lucius’ cock. He was hugely controlling sexually, just the same way he was with everything.

On this particular day, midmorning, the Courier was receiving attention from the both of them. 

Caesar reclined on stacked pillows, arms folded behind his head, legs slightly apart. Between his legs the naked Courier knelt, taking him into her mouth.  
Deeper, Caesar ordered. She took him a few millimetres deeper.   
Deeper, Courier.   
Over her time with him it had become apparent that non-compliance was generally not worth it. Caesar was low on carrots but very big on sticks. The punishment his ire provoked was often wildly disproportionate to whatever tiny act of resistance it was supposed to address.  
So she took him deeper, ignoring the dull ache in her jaw.   
Her ass, Caesar said to Lucius. The guard did not need to be told twice. He took out his semi-hard cock and stroked it to full erection against the skin of the Courier’s round buttocks. 

Less round than they had once been, as she was half-starved now. Caesar fed her, when he deemed her to have earned it, and the food was sometimes good quality but never in sufficient amounts. His policy was to keep her hungry. There was almost nothing a starving human would not do for food; Caesar understood this and it was one of the many techniques he used for control. The Legion provided two nutritious meals every day to its fighters, lunch and a small supper, far more than they could be guaranteed to find in the wastes if they absconded, but little enough to provide a constant reminder of what hunger felt like.

Use the cock ring, Caesar said. Lucius went to get it, and fitted the silver clasp around the base of his cock. His was already well endowed, but it would make him slightly bigger, and Caesar liked to see the Courier be stretched.

Fully hard, Lucius rubbed a little oil onto his manhood, and slid smoothly into her ass, sighing with appreciation at the sensation. 

Caesar’s fascination with control went even further. Gesturing with the fingers of one hand, he indicated to Lucius precisely when to thrust and how hard. Lucius obeyed every command, studying Caesar’s gestures and thrusting on cue, fast when Caesar indicated so, slow likewise. This tableau was, after all, for Caesar’s pleasure, no one else’s.

Throughout all this, the Courier did not think too much about what was going on. She had become adept at ignoring the details of a situation and drifting off into a daydream somewhere else, far away. She couldn’t ignore the physical sensations though, so the daydream was always sexual. Today she was in a palace in the deserts of Persia, enthralled by a djinn which had materialised in her bedroom and was taking out his dark fantasies on her body. She fought to suppress her moans of pleasure so that her vizier would not hear and come to investigate, which would make the djinn disappear into a puff of spice-scented smoke. The djinn, a magical being, was able to penetrate her in all places at once, while she clung to her silken sheets, writhing in ecstasy. 

The Courier groaned around Caesar’s cock when Lucius was ordered to grind particularly deeply into her. Caesar liked that, and made Lucius keep grinding for some time, then to pull all the way out and slam back in hard and fast, making the Courier gasp in shock. Caesar liked that even more.  
Slap her ass, Caesar ordered. Lucius slapped, hard. Caesar liked to see the handprints.  
I’m going to come in her soon, warned Lucius, panting.  
Good, fill her profligate rectum with Legion cum, she likes that, Caesar replied. He often remarked that she liked things, and whenever he did, what he really meant was that he liked it.

Lucius started ramming uncontrollably into her, juddering her hips and thighs, then flooded her interior with a lustful grunt, and went still, holding his still-hard cock inside her, awaiting orders. Caesar popped himself out of her exhausted mouth and moved around to join Lucius, pushing the wet head of his cock into the indentation in the Courier’s body surrounding Lucius’ shaft, and muttering a satisfied _yeah_ as his length slid slowly in. Lucius stayed still, embedded inside her, and Caesar pushed as far in as he could get himself, came halfway out, then fully back in again.

The Courier, now happily free of Caesar’s cock in her mouth, was able to focus on the sensation. The stretch was like that which her lover Lanius gave her. And despite herself, despite knowing that this was not Lanius - nor even men she liked – now filled with Lucius’ cum and pleasingly slippery, the sensation was beginning to become pleasurable. More than pleasurable – orgasmic. She felt a warmth deep in her pelvis every time he forced his way in and the two cocks were both fully inside her. The throaty grunts the men were making added to her excitement. She reached underneath her hips and stroked her fingertips around her vulva and clitoris, finding them swollen and intensely aroused. 

Touch yourself, harlot of a Courier, Caesar encouraged her. Prime cunt of the Legion. You like being fucked by the Bull, don’t you? Your sole desire to is receive Legion cum. My lovely Courier, my personal cocksleeve.   
Tirade over, he abruptly pulled out, and ordered Lucius to do the same.

Caesar stroked himself, watching as Lucius pulled his purplish cock out, leaving the Courier’s ass to gape pinkly, white cum flowing from within.   
Beautiful, Caesar murmured. Hold her profligate ass open, I like it gaping like that.   
Lucius obeyed, using his fingers to hold her open while Caesar spurted fresh hot cum all over her opening and into the dark pink of her rectum, plunging in halfway through to pulse out more of his seed deep inside her. 

When he was finished, and her body was filled to overflowing with the two men’s cum, Caesar withdrew his wilting cock, and admired the view of her once more. 

He was finished for the time being, but he may come back to play with her again. He sometimes played with her body all afternoon, making her orgasm for his own amusement, decorating her with cum, penetrating her with fingers, cock, tongue, fists, and a range of dildoes, the most fearsome of which was modelled on a supermutant’s erection.

The Courier lay facedown, still lost in her djinn daydream, rubbing tiny circles around her clitoris and periodically pushing her fingers inside herself. 

Your cocksleeve wants more, Lucius observed.  
Then she shall have more. Only the very finest for my lovely Courier, Caesar said generously. He selected the flexible silicone supermutant dildo and attached it to one of the many arms of the autodoc, which he had recalibrated for this exact purpose.   
Oil it, Caesar told Lucius, while he tapped some commands into the autodoc’s glowing green console. Oiled, it was an alarming sight, hugely long, a dull green colour, knobbly and thickly veined, far too realistic to be anything other than terrifying. But the Courier wasn’t terrified of it, at least not anymore; she had received it many times since she’d become Caesar’s sex-pet, and was used to it now.  
Help me roll her over, Caesar said to Lucius. They rolled her onto her back, still touching herself, and Caesar lifted her feet up into the stirrups and fixed them wide apart. Her vaginal opening was swollen, wet and ready, looking like it wanted nothing more than to be fucked. Caesar aimed the supermutant proxy directly at her excited opening, and pressed a button on the autodoc. Immediately the machine hummed and the - now faintly vibrating - green cock pressed against her opening. It kept pressing, and suddenly the massive head of it breached her and was swallowed, followed slowly and inexorably by the long, thick shaft, further and further until the autodoc sensed that it had reached her limit.

I’ll never get tired of watching that, Lucius murmured, eyes glued to the sight of the Courier’s labia distended around the shockingly large circumference of the mutant cock, now slowly moving in and out of her. He watched the knobbly bumps on the shaft of the monstrous penis appear, swivel and disappear, and the slight swell of her belly each time it was fully inside her. He listened to the Courier’s panting breath and dissolute moans as she climaxed around it. 

The djinn was taking her, on a perilous flying carpet, high above the palace. Its demonic cock was filling her and swelling inside her but she wanted only more, more.

Lucius was hard again, and he let Caesar see, but Caesar said nothing. The men cuffed her to the bed, which unfortunately meant she couldn’t touch herself anymore, and put earmuffs on her ears and a mask over her eyes so that she could hear and see nothing, only feel.

They left her there, to be slowly, rhythmically fucked until they returned.

* * *

Early the following morning, Caesar tossed the Courier her recon suit and ordered her to put it on, before he left their bedroom. What did this mean? Was she being freed, out of the blue, and particularly unexpectedly since he had so far shown no signs of tiring of misusing her? If anything, the longer she was with him the more satisfied he seemed with her, despite her decidedly modest interest in his attentions. 

She threw the suit on as quickly as she could, listening to muted voices from the next room. He was receiving news reports from the spy. They spoke partially in Latin, but she was getting better at understanding their language. 

The news was interesting. The Boomers had publicly declared they were not going to assist either side in the war between the NCR and the Legion. The Great Khans, on getting word of that development, had declared that they would fight for the Legion, on condition that they stayed "affiliated but independent", i.e. that the Legion not try to assimilate them afterwards.

Hah, thought the Courier at hearing that, zipping up her suit and adjusting the straps for her somewhat reduced breadth. Her waist had shrunk noticeably on her painfully limited diet. She could eat more, of course, but that would involve doing things that she just couldn't do. Like kissing Caesar with the passion that he kissed her and often expressed a wish that she would return. Somehow, kissing him was so much less palatable than fucking him. 

Stepping out into the throne room, she moved to stand next to Caesar's throne and watch the spy as he continued his reports. He couldn't resist glancing at her, but kept his face neutral and his narration smooth. The monorail between Camp McCarran and New Vegas had been blown up. The Frumentarii had planted the remaining unused explosives, sourced from the Omerta clan, in the offices of the Gomorrah itself, with detonators triggerable by radio. Caesar laughed at that, and the spy permitted a small smile to twitch one corner of his handsome mouth. He glanced again at the Courier, wanting satisfaction at her reaction. She ignored him.

Excellent, nodded Caesar when the reporting was complete. You have done well, Vulpes.   
The spy bowed his head in obeisance.   
Now, I have another mission for you. Caesar held out a platinum poker chip. The spy stepped forward, and Caesar dropped the heavy chip into his open hand.   
That bunker under the weather station, he went on. Unfortunately, we need the Courier's expertise to access the interface. Fortunately, we have her collared. He grinned. You will accompany her and help her neutralise or decommission whatever crap is down there. I don't need to say that you will make damn sure she doesn't do anything in there that might put us at risk.   
Of course, master. The spy bowed his head again.   
Caesar regarded him, and the levity dropped from his face. It hasn't gone unnoticed, Vulpes, he said, That you eye up the Courier every chance you get.   
My lord, I -  
Don't give me the innocent eyes. You been acting different, ever since she got here.   
The spy knelt and spoke to Caesar's feet. Lord Caesar, I admit the Courier caught my interest when I met her, but I assure you, since she became your concubine my interest has been contained.  
Ha! Contained in your hand, you mean! Ha ha ha! Caesar chortled merrily, and his guards laughed along with him.

The spy looked up at his master and gave a self-effacing smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He got to his feet and stood to his full height, face carefully blanked again.  
If there's nothing else, he said.  
Go get it done, the both of you, Caesar said. And I am fucking serious when I say keep your hands off the Courier. I expect her to be returned untouched. I'm going to give her a good sniff when she gets back.   
That will be unnecessary my lord. I would not presume to touch a woman of Caesar's.   
Really. Because you seemed quite keen on touching her when she was the Legate's. Or did you think I didn't notice?  
The Legate and I have our differences. I hope that you and I do not, the spy replied. His tone and manner were still deferential, but the Courier noted that his choice of words came close to the faint suggestion of a challenge. He didn't like being dressed down in front of witnesses, and she suspected he was seething inside.

Caesar leaned back and waved his hand dismissively. Go get it done, he said again.

* * *

It felt so good to be out of slave rags and back in her recon suit. She breathed the outside air deeply, and revelled in the sunlight on her face and hands, suddenly realising how strangely institutionalised she had been getting, kept day and night in Caesar's quarters for a week now. 

The spy was silent as they picked their way across the rocky ground to the abandoned weather monitoring station. 

Inside there were several guards, who saluted the spy with alacrity when he entered, and gazed curiously at the Courier behind him. On the floor was a set of large solid reinforced steel panels, which bore the scars of numerous attempts to prise and blast them open. There was a chip-sized slot in an electronics console next to the panels, and the spy handed the Courier the chip, who fitted it neatly into the slot. The panels slid open, revealing an ominous set of stairs leading down into gloom. 

Glad I'm not going down there with you, remarked one of the legionaries, peering down.  
Maybe you _should_ come down here with me, the spy replied.  
Uh...  
Never mind. The spy's voice hardened. All of you, guard the entrance with your lives and do not let anyone in, on any account.   
Yessir! The nervous legionaries saluted again.

They descended into the gloom, and the Courier's eyes slowly adjusted. There was electric lighting down here but it was minimally powered, just a dim yellow glow. A short corridor led to a round-shaped room, with doors marked with the symbol of the Lucky 38 Casino on the far side.

After you, the spy said, gesturing at the doors.  
Mm, so brave, the Courier teased, getting one of his trademark blank stares in return. Immediately through the doors there was another console, and this one had Mr House's face on it. The spy stayed back out of sight as the Courier had a short conversation with the ancient avatar, giving the most noncommittal answers she could.

The Courier flipped the screen off, and they kept exploring. Once they were in what seemed like a completely private room, through thick metal doors and with no further video consoles, the spy took the Courier’s shoulder, turned her towards him, and spoke.  
It was not my intention for things to turn out this way.  
The Courier waited, but he said nothing more. Is that as close as you get to an apology? she asked.  
I never apologise. On principle. But I will say that I view the current state of affairs as regrettable.  
Now it was the Courier who had nothing to say.  
I meant to make you mine, not his, the spy said, moving closer. Too close.  
No need to clarify. I perfectly understand. The Courier’s voice was not forgiving. But you did not make me ‘his’, and you could not make me ‘yours’. I am not property. I do not belong to anyone but myself.  
You gave yourself to Lanius.  
I did not give myself like a present. I chose to spend my time with him. Caesar owns you more than Lanius owns me.  
The spy didn’t answer that, but she saw his eyes narrow.

Don’t stand so close, he’ll smell you on me, the Courier said, sidestepping away from him.   
He won’t smell a kiss.  
Why would I kiss you? the Courier laughed. She moved on, towards the door at the far end of the room. 

Just before she reached it, quick as lightning, the spy grabbed her and twisted her round to face him again, shoving her back against the door as he did so, and placing his hands flat against the door on either side of her head, his elbows pressing her shoulders back.  
You are a unique woman, Courier. And uniquely irritating, he murmured. How about a deal, hm? You kiss me as I desire, and in return, I tell you the information you want to know.  
Information? What information? I want nothing from you. Except maybe your knife. She half-jokingly patted him down for it, as though his extreme proximity wasn’t getting her riled up. She could smell his skin, feel the heat radiating from it. Touching his lithe torso had been a bad idea. And no knife. Probably in his boot.

The spy pressed his hips against hers, and she felt something hard bruising the flesh over her pelvic bone. His knife? No, something bigger than that. His hard-on. 

The spy’s cruel lips ghosted over her cheek. The information about your friends, Courier. Veronica Santangelo, and Arcade Gannon. Remember them? I have news of them that I’m willing to sell to you, for the trifling price of a kiss. Is that too much to ask? Because if you say it is, and then you change your mind, the price will go up.  
He’ll smell you on me, the Courier warned again. 

But she did want to know. She missed her friends, and cared desperately that they were alright. Enough to kiss this terrible human being, though?   
Thank you, but I’m not interested, she said coolly, pushing him away. Or at least trying to push him away. He wasn’t going anywhere. It was like trying to push a heavy stone statue. And damn, her hands were on his muscular body again.  
That’s too bad, I think you would have been very interested in that piece of news, Courier, if you weren’t so stubborn. Oh well. You will never know, and Messrs Santangelo and Gannon will never know that you didn’t hear.  
What do you mean?  
Perhaps its best they didn’t know. What would they think of you, busy fucking Caesar all day long, refusing to hear news of them. They ought to despise you.   
He stepped back, giving her a withering look. 

Once, until quite recently in fact, his attempts at manipulation would have had no effect on her. But she was injured now, psychologically. She was weakened, lonely, vulnerable. 

Shall we? asked the spy, indicating the door.  
No, wait. Tell me. What is the news?  
Tch. I told you that the price would go up.  
What is the price, she asked, folding. Whatever it was, it no longer seemed to matter much. She was already compromised beyond belief. One more obscenity, why not.  
You kiss me.  
And?  
Nicely. To my satisfaction.  
I get that. And?  
And, you tell me everything Caesar does to you. The spy’s breath was warm on her ear. Evvverything, he purred.

The terms of the deal were easier than the Courier had expected. And she was going to fold, but not without a few jabs.  
Is this to give you some fodder for masturbation, she mocked.  
The spy smiled his cold smile. Oh, believe me, Courier. I ejaculate to thoughts of you every single night. He pressed his erection painfully hard against her again, saying, I’m waiting.   
I’m surprised you don’t know what he does in his private chambers. You being a spy and all.  
I have never entered his bedroom.  
Oh. Well then, I’ve got a little tidbit that’s going to knock your socks off.  
I’m waiting, Courier. He was breathing faster now, already excited.  
The Courier decided to press her new advantage. How about we renegotiate the terms of this deal, she said. I kiss you, you tell me the news about Veronica and Arcade. Then I tell you what Caesar does to me, including some details I think even you are going to find shocking, and you disarm my slave collar and show me how to remove it.  
Agreed, he said quickly, sniffing deeply in her hair.

She turned her head to align her mouth with his. At first, he was still and didn’t reciprocate as she kissed his lips, gently, enticingly. She closed her eyes and kissed him with as much passion as she could summon. Opening them momentarily she saw that his eyes were now closed. He started to reciprocate, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Soon his tongue found hers and he drank in her kisses like a drowning man. She held his torso, trying to reposition her hips away from his bruising hard-on, and felt him trembling slightly. His breathing was ragged now, but he couldn’t stop kissing her.   
Stop, she said into his hot mouth. You can kiss me but you can’t give me stubble-rash.   
He stopped, and rested his forehead against hers, still breathing fast. The Courier looked into his eyes and was surprised to see they weren’t dead anymore. There was life in there. She wondered what had happened to him to make him so damaged. He was like Snow White, only a kiss could bring him to life.

He started to speak, his voice low and still lust-filled. Your friends came to the Fort yesterday. They were afraid for you. They considered you missing, and wanted to find you.   
The Courier’s jaw dropped. When yesterday?  
Yesterday morning, and Caesar made them wait until afternoon before he gave them an audience.  
 _Oh no_ , the Courier thought with horror. This meant that they had been right there, sitting out in the sun waiting, while she had been getting Caesar, Lucius and robot -fucked. So close, and so far.  
What did he tell them? she asked.  
He said you were with him now.   
They wouldn’t have believed that.  
They didn’t. They demanded to see you, to hear it from your mouth. Caesar refused, as you will have gathered. He offered them the choice of leaving, or staying and becoming slaves themselves.   
_Oh no_ , she thought again. Please tell me they left?  
They thought long about it, you will be honoured to know. But yes, they eventually left.  
Thank you, the Courier whispered, closing her eyes. She felt like she’d taken a kick in the guts. But at least they were safe; and now they knew where she was, they could stop worrying. Sort of.

The spy’s forehead still rested lightly against hers. He gave her another kiss, a more chaste kiss, on the lips but with mouth closed. Then another. And another. The sound of his kisses was the only sound in the room.

The Courier gathered herself. That had been hard news to swallow, but she was glad she had been told of it. 

Disarm my bomb-collar, please, and show me how to remove it, she said.  
You were going to tell me about what you and Caesar do, first, the spy replied, lifting his head away.  
Fine. He fucks me. He uses every orifice. He tells Lucius to fuck me, for his viewing pleasure. Lucius is only allowed to use two orifices. He puts dildos inside me. He’s got a dildo shaped like a supermutant cock, and another shaped like the phallus of a bull. He’s programmed the autodoc to be a sex machine, and the autodoc fucks me with the dildos while Caesar’s busy.   
She paused for breath, and saw the spy staring at her in shock, just as she’d expected.   
He lets _Lucius_ fuck you? he said, astonished.  
Yeah, but only on Caesar’s specific orders. He probably isn’t even allowed to say no either. Caesar dictates the position, he even dictates the tempo.  
He makes you fuck a _machine_? The spy was still assimilating the stunning barrage of information.  
Yeah. A robot with the cock of a supermutant. He’s got an obsession with stretching me open. I guess he thinks that’s my thing. He thinks that’s why I wanted to be with Lanius.

The spy’s eyes dropped to her crotch. He moved one hand down from her head, over her breast, down her belly and between her legs. The strong fabric of the recon suit prevented either of them from feeling much, however. He pressed his fingers up, as though gripping her by the vulva.  
Is it your thing, Courier? he breathed. Is that what you like? With his other hand he pulled his tunic up, took hold of his cock and began stroking it.  
Not particularly. I mean I don’t mind it, it gets me off, I guess.  
It makes you orgasm? To be stretched around a huge cock?  
It’s not bad. You should try it, she teased. You might like it.  
He fucks your ass? The spy was stroking himself rhythmically now.  
Yeah. Yesterday he and Lucius fucked my ass simultaneously.  
The spy paused. You mean… they both had their cocks inside you… at the same time?  
Yeah.  
Unzip your suit.  
You can’t touch me, Vulpes. Caesar wasn’t kidding. He’s going to check.  
I won’t touch you. Unzip your suit. I want to see you.

They both divested themselves of their armour. The spy left his boots and armwraps on. The Courier had only her slave collar and her Mark of Caesar, reflecting the yellow light, between her legs. When the Courier was naked, the spy crouched down and asked her to part her legs enough that he could see up into her. She put one foot on his shoulder. He didn’t object.

Tell me more. What he does to you. Everything, he growled softly, leaning forward to sniff deeply at her womanhood.   
He fills me with cum, she said. Till my belly is full and it’s dripping from my holes.  
What did he do to you yesterday, when the machine was finished with you?  
He came in and admired my stretched vagina. He came inside me. Then he put his fist inside me.   
He _what_?  
He likes to fist me.   
The spy lifted her foot off his shoulder and stood up. He leaned his body against hers, slightly on one side so he could keep palming his cock. His mouth was against her cheek.   
Say that again, Courier?  
Caesar likes to put his fist inside me, he calls it the Fist of Mars, and he has almost a religious thing about it. Like he’s anointing me.  
Go on. The spy’s hand movement was frenzied.  
He’s working on getting more of his forearm in. That’s why he leaves the robot working on me. He’s trying to stretch me lengthways as well as width.  
Is it working? The spy’s hand was a blur on his straining cock now.  
Don’t come on me, Vulpes.  
I won’t. Answer my question.  
Well yes and no. I mean, women give birth you know. There’s a lot of give. Problem he’s having is that it keeps returning back to its normal state in between sessions.  
He keeps having to stretch you afresh?  
Yes.  
Uhhh, the spy groaned against her cheek, and his overfilled balls went into spasm, steaming cum shooting from his punished cock and splashing on the wall beside her.

They dressed again, and the Courier requested that he fulfil his side of their bargain, and disarm her bomb collar.  
The spy gave a few final tugs to straighten his attire, then smiled at her. A real smile, even the eyes. There’s nothing to disarm, he said. It’s not a bomb collar.  
What? Really?  
No. It’s purely ceremonial. I suppose you can’t actually see it. It’s quite beautiful.  
No… ah. So that’s why it didn’t explode any of the times I tried to escape from Caesar.   
I heard you got halfway across the lake last week.  
I did, and back then I didn’t care if it did explode to be honest.  
Are you becoming accustomed to captivity, then, Courier?  
No. Just regaining some sense of the value of life. My life.  
Your life is valuable, Courier. That’s why it is not a bomb collar. You are no ordinary slave.  
But I am. I’m just like every other worker ant here.

The spy came close again, and stroked her hair. You have a pleasing modesty. It is very becoming.  
You see everything is such a twisted way, Vulpes.  
The spy pretended to look affronted.  
Anyway. Take it off me, please. I need to learn how to remove it myself.  
You won’t escape, Courier, he said softly. No one ever does.  
I’m not no one, Vulpes. And humour me, please.  
Hmm, he said thoughtfully. Then he went around behind her, and moved her hair.   
Hold your hair up for me, Courier, he murmured, kissing the nape of her neck.

He took the hated collar off her, taking care to be gentle as he manipulated the complex series of catches. When he held it out to her, she was stunned to see that it was gold plated, and beautifully carved, in straight lines and right angles, Grecian style. She had thought those ridges were simply separating the components of it, and that the weight was somehow related to its severe purpose.

The spy showed her how the catches worked, and she practiced locking and unlocking it herself, first looking, then doing it without looking.

Once she was satisfied, she put it back on. Then took it off. Then put it back on again.  
I think you have it, Courier, the spy said, one corner of his mouth twitching in the hint of a smile.  
She smiled back, her first genuine smile in a week.   
Thank you, Vulpes, she said, meaning it.  
You are very welcome. I hope we can be of service to each other again in the future. Now, shall we resume our mission here?  
Yeah. But let’s take our time. There’s no rush.  
Agreed.


	16. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spy reverts to type; the Courier makes a bold move; and the Legate struggles in darkness but sees light on the horizon.

Are you ever going to tell me, the spy said as they explored further into the bunker’s maze of corridors, The true reason why you donated yourself to the Legate?  
You will never understand that, because you are missing the part of your brain that would allow you to understand, the Courier replied.  
The female part?  
No, the empathetic part.  
Ha. The foolish part, you mean. Let me ask you something else, then. Do you know how Lanius joined the Legion?  
I know he was a member of the Hidebark tribe, and that that tribe was destroyed by the Legion, the Courier answered. She poked her head into a supply closet that now contained only a ladder, a bucket and a few rolls of ancient duct tape, and moved on.  
Did you know that Lanius killed sixteen of his own tribesmen on that day?  
No.  
I was there and saw it with my own eyes. They tried to surrender and he turned on them and slaughtered them.  
So?  
So do you still feel empathy for him?

The Courier did not reply. The spy still hadn’t caught on, that it was not empathy with Lanius that had informed her decision.

Don’t you think that’s odd, Courier? That he was so ruthless against his own?  
I don’t know.  
Well let me tell you it is. I have watched dozens of tribes be attacked by the Legion. Sometimes they fight to the last, and sometimes they surrender, and sometimes I have seen disputes arise regarding whether or not to surrender - but they are verbal, perhaps a punch or two. Not once have I seen a man violently slaughter his own kin like that.  
No doubt he had his reasons.  
What do you think those reasons could have been, Courier? 

There was something in his voice. The Courier stopped walking and turned to face the spy. Why don’t you just say what you mean, Vulpes?

With a meaningful twitch of his handsome eyebrows, the spy said, There were rumours about the Hidebark tribe. He paused again, for dramatic effect the Courier thought. She didn’t say anything. It was obvious the spy wanted to tell her.

As he always did when he wanted to unnerve her, the spy came close, into her personal space. It was whispered, he said, his own voice close to a whisper, That in the Hidebark tribe social rules had become twisted, depraved. Adult men preyed on the children of the tribe, unchallenged by elders. 

He was looking at her with piercing eyes, eager to see her reaction. The Courier stared back, processing the implications of his words.  
All of the people Lanius killed were men at least ten years older than himself, Courier. Including his chieftain. What do you think that means?

Still she didn’t reply. Unsatisfied by her silence, the spy needled further. Poor little Lanius, he said spitefully, How he must have hated those men.

The Courier felt hate rising up in her, and tried to quash it. She drew a measured breath, and spoke as calmly as she could, difficult in the circumstances.  
You are merely speculating, Vulpes. And you are trying to start a rumour that does no one any favours. Including you. Did you imagine I would think less of Lanius for that? You are sorely mistaken. Whether your suggestion is true or not is a matter I have no opinion of, and is not my right to know. And even if it were true, it is not him who I would think less of, but you, for considering that I should.

She stalked away, vision tinged red with fury, trying to supress an almost overwhelming urge to turn around and punch him in the throat. 

In the next room they found a room full of lockers and ammo cases. While the spy rooted around in the lockers, the Courier spotted an old-model plasma rifle, leaning against the wall in one dim corner. Loaded. Superfast, she considered options. To grab it and shoot Vulpes with it? Then blast her way out, and escape the Fort? An enormously tempting thought. She picked it up. She would need to shoot the three guards in the entry room, and another posted outside the front door. All doable, theoretically. But closer up, the ammunition looked discoloured and untrustworthy – it looked like it might explode and take out the user just as likely as the intended target. 

She looked up to find Vulpes looking at her. His expression was blank but she saw he stood on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. A tense moment passed. She didn’t aim, and he didn’t leap at her. She put the gun back where it had been.  
That looks dangerous, she remarked casually. I’ve seen a man after a plasma rifle misfired and blew up in his face. Not pretty.

Vulpes said nothing, but went over to the rifle, picked it up and looked it over, then unloaded it, putting the microfusion cell away with some others that were in one of the ammo cases.

In the other ammo cases there was a supply of pulse grenades. They left everything there; but not much further on, after accidentally alerting several protectrons, they ran back for the pulse grenades.

Half a dozen incapacitated robots later, and still barely speaking to each other, they got to a large screenless computer console with a chip-sized slot in the centre of it. There were only two options: to leave it alone, or to insert the chip, which might do anything. She looked at the spy and shrugged. He studied the console, brow knitted, and eventually chose the second option. Something rather than nothing. They had, after all, been sent down here to do something. The Courier, under the spy’s watchful eye, inserted the chip again. This time it got completely swallowed, and there was no eject button. 

Immediately a weird whirring, clanging noise began, making the whole room rumble under their feet.

Sounds like things are being destroyed. Let’s get out of here, the Courier said. The spy looked around warily, listening to the ominous vibrations.  
Destroyed? Or manufactured? he said.  
I don’t know, but it feels unsafe. Like we ought to get out fast, the place might be going blow.

The Courier headed for the exit at speed. When she glanced back, the spy was following her, but he looked deeply suspicious.

* * *

Something’s wrong, the spy said outside when Caesar’s tent came into sight. He was staring at the entrance area outside Caesar’s tent. The Courier looked, and saw what he meant. There were always Praetorian guards posted there. No guards were there.

The spy broke into a run, dashed up the rest of the slope and disappeared into the tent. The Courier followed at a walk. When she got inside, all the guards were in the throne room, and she saw what the problem was. Caesar was collapsed on the floor on front of his throne, a thin stream of vomit trailing from his mouth. His skin had a weird pallor and his eyes were rolling up into his head as Lanius’ had done under the effects of _Tremble_.

Had Vulpes poisoned Caesar? She watched the spy cradling his master’s head and shouting for someone to get Siri. His face and gestures were superficially controlled but his smaller movements evinced alarm. This was not his doing. This was something else.

The Courier ran out of the tent, then walked back down to the bunker. Summoning an air of natural authority, she strode in, ignoring the guards, and descended the stairs. Once down there she ran at full tilt through corridors to the room where the plasma rifle was. Snapping open the ammo case she selected the least discoloured-looking microfusion cell and quickly reloaded the rifle. Risky, definitely, but it would have to do.

Any of you boys wanna come down and give me a hand?! she called through the echoing halls as loudly as she could, over the sound of the machinery. I’ll make it worth your while!

She heard footsteps and soon two legionaries appeared in the room in which she stood. _Pthhrrw! Pthhrrw!_ The men transformed into lumps and splashes of luminescent green goo, and the Courier exhaled with relief that the gun was actually functioning.

We need help! she yelled, hoping that the plant’s clanging and whirring had disguised the sound of the rifle. Please! We need some help here!

The third legionary came down, tentatively poking his head into the room in which she hid. _Pthhrrw!_ He melted into a green puddle. 

There was one more guard to take care of, but he was outside. She went up to the entry room, leant the rifle against the wall behind the door leading outside, and opened the heavy door. There was no way to be completely subtle about this one. 

Excuse me, we need your help, she said, politely but with a touch of urgency. A robot is loose and one of the men is injured. She pointed to the stairway leading down into gloom. The guard took two steps inside, then looked suspiciously back at the Courier, opening his mouth about to say something.  
_Pthhrrw!_ His last words would have to remain unsaid.

Shooting someone at close range with any gun was a messy business but with a plasma rifle it was particularly unpleasant. The air where he had stood hung with steam and a strong whiff of foul-smelling smoke. The ground beneath was covered with bubbling green goo. A few globs had splattered onto the toes of her boots. She wiped them on the backs of the recon suit’s legs and walked out, closing the door behind her and casually shouldering the gun as though it was perfectly normal that she should be carrying it.

The panic at Caesar’s tent was ongoing. She saw Siri fly out, call a request to a passing slave and rush back in. 

The Courier walked with long strides to the Legate’s tent, where she found it exactly as she had left it. Fast and efficiently she removed her gold slave collar and shoved it down to the very bottom of her pack, under a flap at the bottom so it would remain hidden short of a very thorough search. 

Caesar’s Mark, still chained into her crotch, she yanked, pinching hard on the chain and trying to dislocate the Mark from the chain without ripping her flesh. The Mark came away from the chain after a few more hard tugs but the piercing made a sharp stinging sensation, she had torn it slightly. No time to worry about that now, though.

Her knife was missing. No time to worry about that either.

She put her tinted biker goggles on, hoisted her pack onto her back, shouldered the rifle again and strode out and down the hill, towards the Fort’s main gate.

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace, right in the centre of the path, and even gave a half-wave to a few slaves she passed. 

The legionaries guarding the gate looked confused at her approach.  
Is that the Courier? she heard one of them say. Yeah… I think so… was the response.

Halt! The first one said when she reached them. Do you have permission to leave?  
Obviously, she replied, as though he was a cretin for doubting it.  
Aren’t you Caesar’s slave? the other one asked, having heard the gossip in the mess tent.  
Do you see a slave collar on me? I’m Caesar’s ally, not a slave, you fucking moron. Shall I go back up and tell him I can’t start the mission he’s sent me on because you’ve been wasting my time?  
Uh, he said, intimidated but still looking doubtful. Neither he nor the other legionary lowered their spears.  
Fine. Here, look! The Courier held up the Mark of Caesar. Safe passage, or have you never heard of that?  
Let her out, the first one said, lowering his spear and standing back. The second one did the same, relieved.  
Thank you, gentlemen. She nodded at each of them in a formal manner as she went through. True to Kaisar!  
True to Kaisar! they responded, feeling better already.

In the same authoritative style, fully out in the open, walking tall and confidently and without any appearance of haste, she headed to the dock, showed her Mark again, was successfully ferried across the lake, and strode purposefully through Cottonwood Cove and up the hill, turning north. 

She took the main road. It was fastest, and she was armed now. The sun beat down hard, but she walked fast, running every time she caught her breath enough to do so, and turning to walk backwards often, scanning intently for any sign of pursuit.

* * *

Every day, a new concubine arrived at the Legate’s Camp, duly delivered as tribute to his Legate from Caesar. Every day, the Legate had them sent on to the general slave pens. 

He refused to be touched by another woman, and he had no interest in slaking his rage. The opposite, in fact – he wanted his fury to remain fresh, burning, apocalyptic in scale. It would help him with the upcoming battle, and it would help him with what else he needed to do.

In the past he had devoted a ritual human sacrifice to Mars once before each important battle. Now, he performed the sacrificial ritual every afternoon, once training was done for the day. The petrified subjects he chose to suffer his wrath were always NCR-affiliated, always male. Every rank of the Legate’s massive army would be summoned to stand in battalions stretching far in every direction, to take part in the brutal spectacle as witnesses and supplicants, and to roar their praises to Mars when the white marble table ran with blood, Legion red.

Afterwards, Lanius would retire to his private quarters to wash himself of blood, and clean and oil the Blade of the East. As he worked he would listen with one ear to the banter between his guards, but he no longer contributed to conversation, other than on the subject of the upcoming battle.

The outcome of this battle would mean everything. His predecessor as Legate, Joshua Graham, had lost everything from his failure at the First Battle of Hoover Dam. There had been a lot to learn after that disaster. Lanius had learned it. He had studied every aspect of NCR tactics.

In this, that loathsome dissembler Vulpes Inculta had admittedly been extremely helpful, placing a skilled member of his unit as a mole in the NCR hierarchy at Camp McCarran and regularly receiving and passing on every type of useful information. 

No, Lanius would not make the same mistakes Graham had. He would not be caught unawares, led into traps, befuddled by unexpected events. He had thought through every possible response to every imaginable contingency, discussed them with Caesar, his Centurions and his personal guards, and refined his tactics to the point that they formed a complex but coherent web in his mind, with every fine strand leading to victory.

He slept alone each night, dreaming of battle, rehearsing every conceivable sequence of events that might occur on their way to triumph. He dreamt of General Oliver and of Caesar and of the Courier. Sometimes he dreamt of death. Those dreams didn’t frighten him, he took them merely as warnings to take care. 

It was the dreams of the Courier which hurt. The memory of the feel of her cool hands on his shoulders, calming him at times, exciting him at others. Her musical voice, her kind glance, her natural aura of power and mystique. As though she didn’t need to hurt anyone to be in control. He loved her with a passion that felt wild, almost animalistic in its intensity, and when he woke alone from dreams of her, his heart ached with torment at her absence, and that ache soon evolved into anguish at her theft.

He wanted her back so badly it viscerally hurt, all the time; but that was useful too, because it fed his rage, and his rage would win him everything. She was misplaced, shockingly so, but not lost forever. The Legate knew a true general does not lose heart from a setback, no matter how disorienting. A true general comes back fighting, harder, better, not only recovering lost ground but gaining new ground. That was what Lanius intended to do.

* * *

He was aware of his guards looking at him askance when he returned to his tent that evening and ordered the latest tribute to be taken out of his sight, untouched. His men were worried about him. But they knew better than to try to talk to him, nor to go against his wishes. They sent the woman away without comment. Perhaps tomorrow he would be himself again, they thought, knowing deep down that he would not be.

They ate supper. Since his humiliation at Caesar’s camp, Lanius forced himself to eat sufficiently to retain his strength, but food had no taste to him any more. He chewed the tender barbequed meat slowly, without pleasure, and swallowed with difficulty, needing gulps of water to help wash it down as though it were scraps of leather. 

When he was finally alone in the bedroom which still bore the scars of his first night’s destruction, he prepared another ritual, a secret one. 

He turned down the wicks of all except one lamp, close to his bed, and stripped naked in the near darkness. Then he laid out on his bed several objects that had taken on sacred meaning to him. 

First, the golden Medallion of the Legate, that had once nestled warmly against the Courier’s sex. Torn from her body and insultingly thrown back to him by Caesar; an outrage against his dignity, and hers, that Lanius would never forgive. Second, the Courier’s fine quality hunting knife, well-used and equally well-maintained, recovered by the Legate from the floor of the room from which she had been abducted. And finally, the dress worn so fetchingly by the Courier on the last night he had spent with her, its red cloth now crumpled and stained all over with uneven circles of dark blood.

Lanius took the medallion into his hand and stroked the face of it with his thumb. He raised it and sniffed the back of it deeply, closing his eyes, still smelling her on it. His pressed it to his lips and kissed it, as reverentially as if he was kissing her. 

Enclosing it his left hand, he picked up the Courier’s knife with his right, and with its sharp point, slowly added a new, seventh vertical cut to his chest, over his heart. He gritted his teeth when the pain hit, then exhaled as he experienced the rushed release of emotional tension that the physical pain conferred, almost euphoric. His crushing grip on the medallion slowly relaxed. Once the cut was deep enough to last, he pressed the dress against it to soak up the blood, then rubbed black pigment into the incision. 

He was now marked with four vertical lines crossed by a fifth and two lines next to them. One for each night since the violation. He didn’t know whether he would do this forever, covering his body, or one day stop, and it didn’t matter; all he cared was that right now it helped him, bringing temporary relief, honouring his devotion to her, and focussing him. It didn’t decrease his rage, nothing could, but it afforded him relief enough each night to get some rest, and to function.

He held the cloth against his stinging chest till the wound clotted, then put away his materials. 

Then he lay on his back in the dark, thinking of her, his favourite memory, taking her in the lake. How beautifully she had kissed him. Her touch, her gaze, sensual, meaningful. He had slid her down onto his shaft, and she had clung to him, and he had fucked her there, holding her tightly to his body and feeling such incredible pleasure when she shook and moaned, her feminine interior clenching him.

Lost in sweet memory, his manhood became erect, and he stroked himself as he remembered that bliss, the scent of her, the feel of her, the soft, sweet sounds she made.

Later, as he was falling asleep, he remembered her diving down to free him from the spiked grasp of the lakelurk. Her face coming towards him in the green water. The strength of her hands, pulling his drowning body to the surface. She had spoken about it afterwards as if he had saved her life. Thanked him, even. He knew the opposite was true, it was he who was indebted. He knew that the Courier, behind her rounded, womanly aspect, her unassuming style and cultivated manners, was no porcelain doll; she was brains and brawn combined, a warrior queen, as capable as a man and braver than many.

She would survive Caesar’s depredations, he felt sure of that. And in due course she would come back to him, return to her rightful place at his side. He knew it, just as he knew he would prevail at the Dam. 

Both of those things had to happen. Because if they didn’t, his rage would never abate, he would burn and destroy everything, every place, neverendingly, salting the irradiated earth in his wake.

* * *

The next day a messenger arrived, one of Inculta’s men, a regular visitor who usually bore the latest reports from the mole in Camp McCarran along with any messages Caesar wished to pass to his Legate.

The messenger’s name was Cato Hostilius. Lanius liked him, or at least disliked him less than Inculta’s other frumentarii, as Cato was at least upfront and honest in his dealings with the Legate, the only frumentarius who did not extend his talent for sneakiness and dishonesty even to fellow members of the Legion.

Ave, Legatus, Cato greeted him at the door of the Legate’s tent, saluting. I bring news from the front, and news from Caesar’s camp.  
Ave, Cato, welcome, enter, Lanius greeted him courteously. Word of NCR troop deployments and other military information was invaluable this close to the battle.

Cato gave a rundown of all latest information on the NCR, then paused.  
You mentioned news from the Fort? Lanius prompted.  
Yes. Our lord Caesar suffered a fall yesterday morning. He is unwell. Since then he complains of a severe headache, his mood is very sour, and his words are… Cato paused again. Not slurred, but different… less articulate than he normally is.  
I see, said Lanius.  
Cato nodded gravely, saying nothing more.

And the Courier? How is she?  
Lanius didn’t care if Cato passed back the information to Caesar that the Legate was still interested in the Courier. In fact he wanted the older man to know. Let him feel the disquiet that that should bring.  
She is gone.  
What?  
She escaped, yesterday, while Caesar was being urgently attended to and backs were turned.  
How? Was she not chained?

Cato permitted himself a small smile. He knew the Legate would like this story.  
She was not, he answered. Caesar sent her down into the bunker under the Fort to investigate it with Vulpes Inculta, and when they returned, Vulpes rushed to our master’s side and the Courier took the opportunity to escape. She stole a plasma rifle and killed four men in the bunker, then she walked out of the front gate. The fools let her out. She was armed and armoured and apparently showed them a Mark of Caesar.  
Where is she now? asked Lanius.  
She was last seen leaving Cottonwood Cove and heading north. I would guess to New Vegas.

This is news indeed, Lanius said thoughtfully. And how has Caesar reacted to these events?  
Not well, Cato replied, understating the matter as frumentarii tended to. Lord Caesar was fond of his mistress, and further, he fears that she now knows information which could be damaging to our war effort. Vulpes has been flogged and temporarily demoted. Alerio is the head of the frumentarii now, until Vulpes returns to Caesar’s grace. As he will, of course. He is a man who always finds a way, as you know.  
Mm. How many lashes?  
Six. He took them well, naturally. He has already done something to improve his favour with Caesar, too. He went back into the bunker this morning, and destroyed it completely.

Lanius nodded slowly. Thank you, Cato, for bringing me the news. Is there anything else I should know?  
No… Cato said, moving to the tent’s entrance.  
…But – beware, Legate. The Courier is very dangerous now. She has heard you and Caesar speaking. She knows too much. Alerio is hastening to New Vegas to assassinate her, but – though I have faith in him, of course – she will be expecting an attack, and she is crafty. She may survive, and she may do us great damage at the battle if she chooses to share her information with the NCR.  
Then we bring the battle forward, Lanius said decisively. Before first light tomorrow, we will spill the NCR’s blood at the Dam. Take that message immediately to Caesar.  
Very well, Legatus. Cato bowed his head, saluted again, and left.

Lanius stood watching him go, lost in thought for a moment. Then he turned to his guards, and ordered that they summon all his centurions for an emergency war meeting.

He looked up at the sky, and said a silent invocation to Minerva, goddess of battle and of wisdom. The sun beamed down on him, warming him and promising glory. A shiver of exhilaration swept through the Legate’s body, and he closed his eyes a moment, sensing victory, so close now.


	17. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XIV

Veronica and Arcade arrived back in New Vegas at midday on the day after their audience with Caesar, without the Courier, and were greeted as such by her other friends with deep sorrow but no surprise. 

Those feelings were reversed completely when the Courier herself arrived only eleven hours later.

She just materialised, shortly before midnight, unnaturally thin, haunted-eyed and covered in wavy lines of orangey-brown dust that had soaked into sweat and then dried; she said a quiet hello to her friends, still up, all drunk from the maudlin wake they were holding for her, and saying nothing more, walked through to the kitchen.

They followed her, and Veronica spoke. Courier? Are you alright?  
Yep, the Courier replied in between long draughts of purified water.  
We came looking for you.   
I know. Thank you.

There was a long pause. The Courier raided the fridge and crammed hunks of fresh rye bread and bighorner cheese into her mouth, not bothering to even slice them let alone form them into a sandwich. She chewed with her cheeks stretched out like a chipmunk, except it wasn’t funny. Something was very wrong and Veronica could see it.  
They didn’t feed you up there, huh.  
The Courier just made wide eyes at Veronica as a reply, her mouth too full to speak.   
Oh, they had food, she said thickly when she had swallowed enough. But it was expensive as hell. 

Veronica was sensitive to subtleties, and something about the Courier’s manner warned the Scribe not to enquire further. Not to try to hug her either. So she put the warmth of a hug into her voice instead.  
We’re really glad you’re back.   
The others murmured their agreement.  
The Courier’s only response was a small flick of the eyebrows and a nod.

Veronica led the friends back to the sitting room and whispered that she thought they should leave the Courier in peace until she had had some sleep.

A minute later the Courier’s shrunken stomach stopped hurting from hunger and started hurting from overfilling, so she ended her feast and went to the bathroom to strip and stand in the shower, not scrubbing, just letting it pour over her. The water flowing over her face felt heavenly. Serenity came to her, for the first time in over a week. She blinked in the water, remembering swimming in Lake Mead with Lanius. That memory felt strange, now. Vivid and beautiful, yet it made her heart hurt. 

The short gold chain was still in her sex, dangling empty now. The piercing was inflamed and angry from where she had yanked it then sweated all day on it. She washed the site, and when she finished her long shower and dried herself, gingerly dabbed iodine on it, leaving the chain there for the time being. She spent a while brushing her teeth and trying to avoid looking at herself in the mirror, then she went to bed.

During the night she started to feel nauseous, deep in the guts. She got up and staggered to the bathroom. Blood. Good news, she wasn’t pregnant. The flipside, she felt like death. The next morning, the cramping and nausea were so bad she couldn’t get out of bed.

It was Arcade who eventually appeared in her doorway.   
Well hey there, he said, trying for jocular.  
I’m fine, thanks, the Courier pre-empted him. She tried to sound normal, but the warning tone was back and that wasn’t normal for her. Plus the nausea was making her voice sound so weak.

Arcade gave an awkward smile. Ah, yes. You look fine. In the sense that you still have all your limbs. I’m glad you’re back, we missed you. I wouldn’t say we were _incapable_ of going on without you, exactly..? …but I would say we were, you know, like, literally terrified. Heh.

The Courier nodded and didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to be rude but she really wanted him to get out of her room and let her curl back up and try again to sleep.

Arcade squirmed. Ah, I apologise if this was presumptuous of me, but ah, ahem, I’ve taken the liberty of making an appointment for you to see Doctor Usanagi? You know, just a check-up, maybe a consult, as she has expertise that I don’t have… He trailed off, and bit his lip.

The Courier squinted at her old friend, and felt sad that he looked so worried about her. She really was fine. She tried to give him a comforting smile, but it came out crooked. Dr Usanagi had many areas of expertise, and one of them was dealing with sexual assault trauma victims. It wasn’t surprising that that’s what he and the others assumed had happened to her, she supposed. What else would you expect to be in line for a female trapped at the Fort. Virtually every woman there could probably benefit from a consult with Dr Usanagi. But she had zero desire to talk to Usanagi, or Arcade, or anyone else. 

Thank you Arcade, that was thoughtful of you, but cancel it please. I’m not someone who deals with things by talking them through. I’m not feeling too great right now, but that’s just because I’m very tired and experiencing some menstrual issues. Gimme a day or two, I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me please, it might get annoying. She smiled again, trying for reassuring. 

Arcade frowned, not looking reassured at all, but he obliged her unspoken request and turned to leave, saying a few things about ‘here for you’.   
Hey Arcade? she called.  
Yes?  
Thanks for going up there to find me.  
Of course.  
Could you do me a favour?  
Anything.  
Believe me when I say I’m alright, and tell the others to believe me too. Don’t speculate about me, please. I need sleep, that’s all.   
Arcade nodded wordlessly.   
Hey also, could you send Boone in here please?

When Boone came in, he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of her bed and put his head in his hands.

Boone? Damn her voice was weak. She cleared her throat and started again.  
I need you to deliver a message for me please. Go see Colonel Hsu at Camp McCarran and tell him that the Legion will attack the Dam in…   
She broke off to calculate. Caesar had said two weeks. What day was it now? Time had seemed meaningless in captivity, and her brain was so fuzzy with exhaustion. 

Boone had turned his head and was staring at her now.   
Uh, in six days’ time, I think, she eventually finished.

Boone’s eyes were stormy. What happened to you? he whispered.  
I’m fine. Boone. Just not feeling too hot. I’ll be alright. Go tell Hsu, ok? And tell him that if he wants more info about the Legion’s operations, he should come see me. Here. I’m not going to him today. 

She didn’t say that she couldn’t walk that far, today. She didn’t need to, Boone could see it.

Six days, Boone repeated.   
Yeah, that’s what Caesar said. He told the Legate eight days ago that he had two weeks to do it.  
Could be less.  
Yeah. Could be. Especially now that they must have noticed that I’ve escaped. They might bring it forward.

Boone was silent for a minute. Then he said, Everyone thinks you are siding with the Legion now.  
Who’s everyone?  
Not us. But everyone else. Everyone’s talking about it, down at the Silver Rush, Gun Runners, everywhere. People keep asking me. I asked them where they heard it, and, turns out, rumour’s getting spread by Crimson Caravan traders. All of ‘em, wherever they go. Yesterday I went to see Alice, their boss. 

Boone made a shape of a pistol with his fingers. He went on: After a little ‘encouragement’, she admitted that a guy calling himself “Mr Fox” came to see her a week or so ago. He gave her a thousand caps as a down payment, said he represented the Legion, and that if she agreed to spread the news far n’ wide that the Courier’s with the Legion now, he’d see to it that Crimson Caravan business gets preferential treatment when the Legion takes over.

The Courier winced. Oh fuck, she whispered. And Alice agreed.  
Yeah. Why wouldn’t she, she said. Costs her nothing, and promise of a big reward.

The Courier thought about it. It went some way to explaining why the Boomers and Great Khans had suddenly thrown in their lot with the Legion. Falling like dominoes, all based on a false rumour. Vulpes the master manipulator in action again. 

But what to do? Time was so short, six days at the most before the Legion attacked. A field trip to see the Boomers and Khans, tell them it was a lie? That might work, or it might be too little too late. They had publicly declared their side, and very probably begun preparations accordingly. 

She had expected to spend the day curled into a little ball of pain and nausea, only getting up for trips to the bathroom to deal with blood and diarrhoea. Even walking that far made her feel faint. A field trip was out of the question, for the time being. She decided to write a letter to each faction instead. Cass and the others could head out today to deliver them.

Boone face was back in his hands again. He squeezed his temples, then looked sideways at her. So are you with the Legion, now?  
What? No! Boone, of course not.  
People are saying shit. I heard someone at the Gomorrah say you married Lanius. Someone else said no, you married Caesar.  
Ugh. I didn’t marry anyone, Boone. I don’t support the Legion. I hate virtually everything they stand for. Fuck’s sake, you _know_ that.

He stared at her for another moment, his eyes as sad as a bloodhound’s. Then he got up and walked out.

The Courier pulled the covers up and scrunched into a tight zigzag of anguish, willing unconsciousness to overtake her.

* * *

Alerio, the assassin, waited outside, leaning against a wall a couple of doors down on the other side of the strip, smoking a cigarette.

There were NCR soldiers slouching around on the Strip as usual. Disgusting reprobates, he thought, blowing smoke in their directions. Poor discipline. Weak loyalty. No principle. They would die soon, that was a good thought. The Legate Lanius was a great leader, and as sharp as his blade. And the sharp thing to do as soon as he got word that the Courier had escaped would be to launch a surprise attack at the Dam. 

Ha, ha. The NCR were so fucked, they had no idea, Alerio thought with satisfaction. The Legion was far more powerful than they understood. Their arrogance prevented them from understanding. Under the command of Lanius, the raw, zealous force of the Legion would destroy them utterly.

He checked his watch. He’d been there since the early hours of the morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to wait much longer. If his guess was correct, the assault on the Dam would soon be taking place, maybe already was, and Courier’s ability to pass on tactical information to the NCR, if indeed she had any, was becoming increasingly redundant. 

She hadn’t left her lodging since he arrived in New Vegas, and he knew that she was in there, because he had knocked on the door at 7am, introduced himself as a trader who had obtained something she’d been discreetly looking to buy a month or so ago, and they had said she was asleep and very tired, and to come back the next day.

Odd, that he should be standing around idly puffing a cigarette while all his comrades would shortly be fighting for glory. Some of them would be dead by this time tomorrow, probably. Hopefully including Vulpes. It had been a nice stroke of luck, getting promoted due to Vulpes losing his mind over the Courier, causing him to make some uncharacteristically bad moves. 

Alerio himself had encountered the Courier a couple of times prior to her visit to the Fort. He didn’t quite get what others saw in her, there was nothing special about her that he could discern. Other than her undoubted skill as a peacemaker – a fundamentally useless skill in Alerio’s opinion. Sure she was fully equipped in the lips, hips and ass department but there was plenty of quality pussy to be had on the Strip, hers didn’t seem like it’d be that much sweeter than anyone else’s. Even up at the Fort, fresh pussy came in all the time, so why were Caesar and the Legate so hung up on this piece? 

Inexplicable, he thought. The Legate had spent half his time fucking her when she was with him. Which he never did; his mode was to fuck at night, kill at dawn and get on with real business during the day. Then Lord Caesar had done the same, actually going so far as to look bored and distracted when Alerio had presented his last, very interesting report, rushing him through the details and then retreating to his room to continue doing whatever he was doing to her in there.

Madness. She was like Spanish Fly to them. Like she had hypnotised them somehow. Bewitched, that was it. She was some kind of evil witch. 

He took one last drag of the cigarette, admiring the sun-like glow of its burning tip.

Witches should be burned, he thought.

Alerio dropped the cigarette butt, watched it helplessly falling, and crushed it under his boot, using enough force to shred it.

* * *

The Courier laboriously wrote out letters to Papa Khan and to Mother Pearl, explaining that the rumours that she was siding with the Legion were the opposite of true, and giving a comprehensive list of reasons why it was not in anyone’s interests to do so. 

Cass headed out with Rex, to take the letter to the Khans at Quarry Junction. Veronica and Ed-E left for the Boomers in Nellis. Arcade stayed behind to care for the Courier, against her protestations that she was quite alright and that there were more important things to do.

Boone eventually came back from Camp McCarran, in the late afternoon. Hsu had been unimpressed by the Courier’s assertions, he reported. The NCR already knew that the Legion would attack soon, but they seriously doubted it would be this week. They had solid reasons to believe the Legate would not be ready for several more weeks. Boone had asked what the reasons were, but Hsu told him to worry about his own business. All he would say was that the NCR had a mole in the Legate’s camp, who reported via radio to Captain Curtis, one of Hsu’s most reliable men.

The ‘mole’ is probably Vulpes Inculta, the Courier said drily.  
Maybe, but I doubt it. Curtis is a smart guy, he’d smell a rat if it was bullshit, Boone countered.  
Maybe Curtis is the rat.  
No way. I worked with him for a couple of years, he’s a good man. One of our best.

The Courier didn’t agree, but she didn’t try to argue. Boone would himself make occasional criticisms of the NCR, but it pained him to hear it from anyone else.

The nausea and diarrhoea had finally gone, but she felt exhausted, worn down to the bone.

Boone went out, and came back with some Fancy Lad Snack Cakes and Nuka Cola, bringing them to the Courier on a tray, for which he earned her heartfelt thanks. He must have been a very sweet husband to his wife, she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud. Boone didn’t appreciate that kind of observation.

Sorry. For doubting you, before, said Boone.  
Nothing to be sorry for. 

Boone sat on the edge of her bed for a short while, watching her eat, then left.

Right. I need to get up, the Courier thought to herself, munching the last bite of Snack Cake. Less than a minute later, she was asleep again.

* * *

When the Courier woke again, late that night, Veronica and Cass were still not back. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen, finding Boone and Arcade drinking whisky and water at the kitchen table. Boone had an overflowing ashtray next to his glass. Arcade had a cigarette in his hand, too, unusual for him.

The Courier sat down next to them and declined Boone’s offer of the whisky bottle.   
Guys, she said, We need to decide what we’ll do if the Legion wins at the Dam.  
They won’t, Boone said.  
Perhaps they won’t, but we need to think about the possibility that they might. Because if they do, their next move is to come to New Vegas. I heard Caesar talking about it, he’s going to make this his capital, call it ‘New Rome’.   
Ugh, Arcade grimaced.  
Can the city defend itself? the Courier mused aloud. Realistically, I don’t think it can. We’ve got Mr House’s Securitrons, of which there are only about 100, plus the Kings, who are what, forty or fifty guys total? Plus whatever random citizens are prepared to fight, and two of the three families, who themselves are more party hosts than fighters.  
Two? Who’s not in? Arcade asked.  
The Omertas have thrown their lot in with the Legion, the Courier answered, waiting for the explosion from Boone. 

Boone didn’t explode but he started growling ominously. He stopped when the Courier informed him that Vulpes Inculta had laid explosives in their offices, so karma would repay their treachery soon enough.

How many men does the Legate have? asked Arcade.  
I don’t know exactly, but it’s around the ten thousand mark.  
What?! Arcade gasped.  
Yeah.  
Arcade stared at her, eyes wide and hand over his mouth.

The Courier turned to Boone. How many soldiers does the NCR have?  
Boone took a long drag on his cigarette. I don’t know any more. Used to be around eight thousand, but we’ve lost a lot of people. We’re better equipped and better trained than the Legion though. Way, way better.  
Better equipped, definitely, but it would be a mistake to underestimate them, Boone. Their training is certainly different but it’s not necessarily less effective. And they’ve got desperation and zealotry on their side - those are two powerful motivators.  
And sheer numbers, said Arcade.  
Come on, we nuked them last time around, pointed out Boone.  
That was under the previous Legate.   
So? They’re all the same.

The Courier silently shook her head.  
Did you meet him up there? asked Arcade.  
The Courier took a long breath, and let it out slowly. Yeah, I met him. I got to know him.   
Is it true he’s seven feet tall?  
Yes.   
What’s he like in person? 

The Courier paused, staring at the distorted view through the mostly empty whisky bottle.  
He’s very complex, she said eventually. I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like him, and I certainly wouldn’t claim I understood him.   
Did you see the famous ‘monstrous’ side of him while you were up there? queried Arcade.  
No, not at all. He’s articulate, eloquent even, and what I saw of his behaviour was very civilised.

Arcade looked astonished, then doubtful. Really? he said.  
Really. But I definitely wouldn’t underestimate him, either, for the damage he can do. 

She thought for a while, then said, Put it this way. Look at how effective Caesar has been, then consider that Lanius is his prodigy. Imagine if Caesar, at the start of his career, had had a mentor like that. The experience, the knowledge and skill for warmongering that he has now, combined with the energy and sheer testosterone of a much younger man? That’s what we’re dealing with.  
Stop blaming testosterone, Arcade said with a wave of his hand. I have it and I don’t go around committing atrocities.   
The Courier switched her gaze from Arcade to Boone.   
Boone frowned sullenly at the table.  
Arcade opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it.

Well. I get what you’re saying, anyway. He’d be unstoppable, Arcade said.  
The Courier nodded. He already is unstoppable. I don’t think he needs Caesar any more. Caesar was something, that’s for sure, but Lanius is already twice what Caesar ever was, in every respect. It’s impossible to overstate the risk. We’re talking Ghengis Khan levels of unstoppability. A man who could dismantle a whole continent, piece by piece, and reshape it in his image.  
By that analogy Caesar would have been Ghengis, Lanius would be more analogous to Ögedei, or even Kublai Khan, Arcade corrected her.  
Fine, Kublai Khan. You get my point.  
I do, Arcade said, adding, _Shit_ under his breath.  
Shit is the word. The whole Mojave’s in it deep.

Boone finally spoke up. Fuck’s sake, he’s not a god, he’s just a man, he said stubbornly, grinding his cigarette butt into the ashtray.  
Well, yeah, the Courier said. But also, no. He is a man, but he’s the kind of man you only see once in a thousand years. The kind of man that spawned legends of gods. A man like Hercules.  
Although, technically Hercules was actually a god, corrected Arcade.  
The Courier chuckled. Oh, lovable Arcade, she said fondly.  
I love you too, he smiled back.

Boone was making a face like he was going to spit. You talk about Lanius like you got a crush on him, he snarled at the Courier.  
I’ve already got a crush on him, Arcade said lightheartedly. As well as the team’s historian, linguist and medic, Arcade was always the one who tried to defuse tension in the group. Defusing Boone, however, was a lot more difficult than just cutting the red wire.

All I’m saying, the Courier said, ignoring Boone’s face of thunder, Is that we have to assume there’s a very strong possibility that they could succeed at the Dam. Especially with the Boomers’ and the Great Khans’ help, if we can’t change their minds. Then the city will lose its last major source of electricity, and the Legion will come here. The NCR will abandon the city before they arrive. We either do the same, evacuate, or we stay and fight. And the only way we would win that fight would be if the Legion was so depleted by the battle at the Dam that they have almost nothing left. We could probably beat, what, maybe four or five hundred of them? Maybe a thousand at best, if a miracle happened? Any more than that and we’re pretty much fucked.

She realised, as soon as she said it, that it was an unfortunate choice of words, given the Legion’s propensity to rape as they pillaged.

Boone lit a new cigarette. We mine the outskirts of the city, all around the east and south. Blow ‘em up before they even get here, he said.  
Not a bad idea, but the problem with mines is you can never be sure who you’re going to blow up. I don’t wanna blow the legs off women and kids who are just trying to escape, or traders who are passing by unawares. Plus once you’re mined an area, it stays mined, until every single mine has claimed somebody’s limbs. No. No mines.  
I agree with that, said Arcade. He said it gently, because discussion of civilian casualties was one of Boone’s many sore spots.

Boone said, What then?   
You two guys should head up to the Dam asap, so you’re there to help when it all kicks off.  
Ok, said Boone.  
Arcade frowned. I’m not too keen on leaving you behind.  
Leave me and don’t look back. I’m not in condition to travel.  
You’ll feel better tomorrow, Courier. Let’s wait for Veronica and Cass to get back, then the five of us will go up together.

They talked on into the night, arguing back and forth. There were so many problems. Even if they could organise an evacuation, where would the populace head to? How far would they need to run before the Legion caught up with them?

There was another, hidden issue. She couldn’t tell her friends this, but the Courier felt a strong urge to resume the path she had chosen, the righteous path of sacrifice for the greater good. Lanius may well die, in which event she would openly rejoice and privately mourn. But if he lived, she needed to return to her lover’s side. Caesar was wrong - she could temper the Legate. She had proved it. Soothe him, occupy him, allow him to express himself, provide a natural limit to his excesses. And if she was honest, she wanted to. She hadn’t forgiven him for walking away, but she hadn’t stopped missing him either.

* * *

All their discussions were in vain. They were too late. The Legion launched a surprise attack on the Dam that very same night, and wrested control from the New California Republic. 

The NCR were caught short, not at full strength. General Oliver and his auxiliary troops were not even there yet. It fell to Colonel Cassandra Moore to defend the Dam with the troops she had, numbering four and a half thousand. They laid traps, all of which failed. The minefields were worse than useless, detonated by a wave of the lowest Legion slaves forced forward at the front line, then leaving so much dust and smoke clouding the air; effectively hiding the real Legionaries swarming forward. Then another trap failed, in a manner that was catastrophic – the Legion appeared to fall for it, seeming to rush back in a panicked-looking retreat, but it was all false. An entire NCR battalion, charging forward to press their advantage, was ambushed and annihilated.

After that, with all the slopes surrounding the Dam crawling with Legionaries, Colonel Moore ordered the remaining NCR troops to fall back. When they saw their casualties, they realised that they hadn’t enough able-bodied soldiers left to even fight a rearguard action let alone defend the Dam. Moore ordered her techs to sabotage the Dam’s electrical controls, and sent a stark radio message to the NCR High Command in New Vegas to evacuate.

By mid-morning the next day, when Cass and Veronica had returned and the Courier and her group were readying themselves to leave for the Dam, the lights blinked and went out across the City, a few backup generators kicked in, and panic spread thoughout New Vegas and Freeside as the NCR started marching out and the appalling understanding dawned, that the battle was already fought and lost.

* * *

Blood was drying from red to brown on the dusty earth surrounding the Dam. Bodies littered the ground, picked at by crows and scavenger creatures. 

On the outside wall of the control tower, Colonel Moore was nailed up, sightless eyes facing West. Overhead, the sun shone peacefully down, and the proud red flag of the Bull fluttered in the warm breeze.

* * *

The Legate washed the blood off his armour then polished it till it gleamed. His men leapt and hollered around him, buzzing from the incredible high of triumph. The Legate was quiet and focused. His battle wasn’t finished yet.

He dressed carefully, and ordered his men to prepare themselves. While they did so, he retreated to the private room of the Legate’s tent that had been erected for him beside the Dam.

Once secluded, he took out the Medallion of the Legate, and knelt in the centre of the floor on one steel plated knee, holding the golden mark in his right hand and hilt of the Blade of the East in his left. He held the medallion flat to his heart, and breathed deeply. 

With head bowed and eyes closed, he sought the wisdom of Mars, Minerva, and Venus. They all told him the same thing. He must do what was right. 

Opening his eyes, he sniffed the medallion, as had become his habit, and tucked it securely away in a pocket. He stood, and went out to reunite with his guards and take the news of triumph to Caesar.

Caesar would be delighted. He would give accolades to his Legate in the form of long speeches. He would cover him with glory, shower him with tributes and gifts. Golden trinkets, ceremonial robes, more female slaves than he could use in a month. Perhaps a marble statue. Perhaps a new title. He did not like his current sobriquet, the Monster of the East. He was nothing so ignoble as a monster, in his own opinion. He was a general in the process of becoming an emperor, just as Julius Caesar had, a role with fine historical precedents and one that many men aspired to, but vanishingly few achieved.

His guards were ready and waiting for him. They were calm now, and met his eyes with serious expressions. Lanius went to each one of them, stood close and met their saluting hands with his own, the palms and fingers aligned exactly, the feelings aligned, the intentions aligned.

Each man was imbued with the Legate’s power when he came to them and looked into their eyes. When he touched Lucius Vorenus’ hand, the stone-jawed guard nodded almost imperceptibly.

* * *

Caesar was feeling better. The seizure had been alarming, true, and the headaches that had plagued him since had been annoying, but a scout had come to him this morning with news that the Legion had achieved a spectacular triumph at the Dam, and that made him feel a lot better. Pretty great, in fact. He had busied himself since with issuing orders to prepare for moving the Legion’s entire base of operations to New Rome as soon as possible, and for a grand celebration with Lanius, when the Legate arrived. 

He had a new concubine, but she was not as satisfying as the Courier. He had sent Vulpes running to New Vegas to call off Alerio’s hit and deliver new orders to watch her, instead. If she was still alive, he would arrange to have her returned to him as soon as the Legion arrived in New Rome. She would lie, that night and forever after, in Caesar’s bed.

She would not come willingly. Someone like her could not be completely tamed, and that was part of the pleasure of owning her. She would need to be carefully caged, like a lioness in a circus. But Caesar knew how to win over a reluctant concubine. He would give her the finest cage, lavish her with silks and honey, indulge whatever whims she had that cost him nothing. He would induce sensory pleasure in her, however much she fought it, until she could fight it no more and slowly gave in, softening towards him until she became what he wanted, a once-proud pet who submitted, albeit chained, to anything he wanted to do to her, who orgasmed on demand, and whose life was devoted entirely to receiving him, and satisfying his basest sexual desires.

He thrilled at the thought of what he would do with her when he got her back. 

A long, low horn sounded. The Legate’s entourage was arriving at the camp. Caesar heard men cheering outside. He smiled. He had chosen his new Legate well. New Rome would be theirs.

Lanius swept into Caesar’s tent and lowered himself to one knee before his master, in his habitual crusader-like style, head bowed and blade planted in the ground before him.

You have done well, Lanius. Rise.

Lanius stood up. He did not resheath his sword, a fact which Lucius Aelius noted, and the old guard tensed, watching the Legate’s every fractional move.   
My Lord, Lanius rumbled.  
You have brought great glory to the Legion, Caesar said. I applaud you, my Legate. My faith in you was amply justified. I have many gifts for you –  
I want only one thing from you, Lanius interrupted.

Caesar frowned. This was not protocol. No one interrupted him. Lanius was getting cocky, he thought. 

Next to him, Lucius Aelius subtly switched the safety off his ballistic glove.

If it’s the Courier, we’ve already discussed that. She belongs to me, I will not give her to you, Caesar said tersely, feeling a headache beginning.  
No, not the Courier. She is not yours to give. The only thing you can give me now is your head; and as fast as lightning Lanius swung the Blade of the East in a flashing arc, severing Caesar’s head from his body.

Simultaneously, Lucius Vorenus launched his 6’8”, 130 kg frame at Lucius Aelius. The older Praetorian was already on the balls of his feet about to attack Lanius. Slammed into by Vorenus he was spun off balance. 

For everyone else there was a second of frozen time as Caesar’s head slid to the ground, then a mohawked Praetorian guard barrelled forward and punched Lanius with his ballistic fist, causing a shotgun blast to spray the side of Lanius’ chestplate and a mass of pellets to embed themselves in the Legate’s relatively unprotected armpit.

Caesar’s other guards launched themselves at Lanius, but Lanius’ guards were more loyal to the Legate than they were to Caesar, and Caesar’s guards were intercepted and taken brutally down, one by one. 

By the end of the fight, Caesar, Lucius Aelius and five of Caesar’s other Praetorian guards who were unfortunate enough to be on duty at the time lay dead on the carpets, some of them in pieces. Lanius stood, breathing hard and bleeding heavily from his left armpit. His four guards were all still on their feet. They were barely even bleeding, Lanius having been the focus of the aggression.

Guard the door, Lanius said to two of his men. The other two helped him clean up the room, rolling the bodies up in the floor mats and stacking them in the bedroom. Caesar’s concubine was in there, bound to the bed, unclothed, and quivering in terror. Lanius paid no attention to her. He pulled a sheet from underneath her to tear up and use to wipe down his sword and armour, and to stuff some wadding under his arm where the shotgun pellets had pierced his skin so it leaked blood like a colander.

Once they were finished, the throneroom bore few signs of the fight, other than the fact that it was empty. Lanius looked at the throne of Caesar. He was Caesar now, but he felt no particular urge to sit in it. This murder had not been about usurping power. It had been an eye for an eye, a betrayal for a betrayal, nothing more nor less.

* * *

An exalted funeral was held for Caesar that night, which merged with the celebrations of the triumph in battle. Lanius and his men themselves led the procession, carrying the coffin draped in red and gold through the throngs of chanting Legionaries, down to the lake. They placed it on a small boat with accelerants and set fire to it. Cursor Lucullus rowed another dinghy to the middle of the lake, dragging the burning boat behind him, then set it adrift. The leaping yellow and blue flames looked magnificent in the darkness, reflected flickering on the surface of the water, glowing sparks floating upwards in the breeze.

_Ave, Lanius Caesar! Fortissimus bello! Legionem auctor!_ the men of the Legion roared as the Legate-become-Caesar and his fearsome guards marched back up the hill, their leader’s eyes sober and forbidding behind his mask, his heart leaping in his chest. Hail, Lanius Caesar! Gallant soldier of the battle! Champion of the Legion!

The exact manner of Caesar’s death was uncertain to all but Lanius and his four guards, but many knew Caesar had not been well in the last few days. In any event, Lanius had just coordinated and personally led them to a thunderous victory in their biggest battle yet, so while the news of the old Caesar’s death was deeply felt, there was still much to celebrate, and much to look forward to. 

They sang long into the evening, songs of battle, songs of mourning, songs of camaraderie. 

At first light the next morning they set forth for the glittering desert city they would shortly remake as their New Rome.


	18. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hot, hot glare of the son of Mars shines on New Vegas and heats everyone around it.

By the time the city was surrounded, about half the population had evacuated. Evacuation was a polite description for the mad scramble that had occurred. The NCR packed up and marched out in an organised fashion, but everyone else ran around in a panic, screaming for their children, grabbing up whatever portable valuables they could, and high-tailing it north-north-west on the broken remains of Highway 95.

By evening, the city was officially under siege, and there was no more getting out. The Legion set up camps all around the city, lighting bright bonfires, beating war drums in ominous rhythms and chanting their battle songs late into the night.

In the morning the frazzled city didn’t wake up, because no one had slept. It was impossible to sleep with wolves howling at the door. Instead they had spent the night barricading the gates, checking weapons and ammunition, and talking about how useless barricading the gates and checking weapons was inevitably going to be. Anyone could see this siege wouldn’t last long. The Legion controlled Helios One and the Dam, so the city had virtually no power and a severely limited water supply. 

Worse, the Legion had lost barely any of their best fighters at the battle of the Dam. A great many slaves were dead, and a fair number of recruits, but the veteran legionaries were alive in vast numbers. As the sun came up they were revealed, formed into rank after rank of a hundred men each, led by their centurions. They were using ancient Roman shield formations to protect themselves from ranged fire, their rough shields made from salvaged car and refrigerator parts and corrugated iron, all daubed with the dusky red X of the Legion. 

Looking out at that endless sea of red Xs in every direction, the Courier thought she knew how it must have felt at the great sieges of history. At Troy, or Leningrad. 

Or Alesia, the last Gaulish stronghold, starved out by Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, their leader Vercingetorix taken prisoner and later paraded through Rome before execution. 

The whole of Gaul was subjugated to Roman rule for the next half-millenium after Alesia fell. The same fate might befall the whole of the western wasteland once New Vegas was taken.

Vercingetorix was a brave warrior, and a strategist worthy of respect. Even the manner of his capture was on his own terms, and legendary for its courage. Once there was no other way for his people to survive the siege, he rode out on a white horse, alone, and dismounted in front of Julius Caesar, presenting himself as a peace offering in an attempt to end the siege with no further death for the Gaulish people.

Would Edward Sallow Caesar accept the same tribute? Should she walk out and martyr herself, on condition the city was spared the worst of the Legion’s brutality? There was no way the weakened city would stand, but there was still a possibility that she could negotiate a relatively bloodless fall.

* * *

Dressed in her recon suit, black-tinted goggles and heavy boots, with her hair tied back and rolling a small smooth stone between the fingers of one bare hand, she ducked to step through the small gate-within-a-gate, and walked out, towards the biggest cluster of Legion flags, hoping that meant the Legate was at that spot. Neither he nor Caesar was discernible amongst the shielded Legionaries.

Between the city and the sieging army was a no man’s land of around half a kilometre. The company of Vercingetorix’ white horse would have been nice, but none was available. She took Rex instead, who trotted along at her side, blissfully oblivious to where they were going. 

Behind her, the city cowered. In front of her, ravening hordes waited, ready to bite on their leader’s call.

From up high, the distance hadn’t looked so far. Now walking it, watched by thousands of eyes, it felt like miles. She rolled the little stone in time with her steps.

The shield wall was bristling with spears. She approached, feeling her heart spin, but breathing steadily and letting the little stone keep her focused. 300 metres away. 200. 150. The war drums pulsed out an almost danceable beat, and as she got closer she saw that all the spears were moving in unison, just a little, in time to their own rhythm. The Legion, still elated by their win over the NCR, was going to dance into New Vegas.

She carried a weapon on her hip but it was for appearances only, an unloaded and no-longer-functionable Desert Eagle pistol. She wouldn’t get the chance to use it, and there was no point donating the enemy a usable gun.

At 100 metres away, the flags and shields parted and Lanius stepped forward, in full armour. He shone blindingly in the sun. The Courier stopped walking, and told Rex quietly to sit. 

Lanius walked out to her in long strides. He carried over his shoulder a red tasselled bag with something heavy in it, which he left by his feet when he stopped close in front of her. As soon as he stopped still, the war drums fell silent.

Little gusts of wind swirled dust around their feet as they regarded each other in the eerie silence. The Courier could see Lanius’ dark blue eyes through the slits in his mask. She reached up with one hand and pushed her goggles up to her forehead so he could see her eyes in turn.

To her surprise, Lanius removed his mask, holding it under one arm. His attention was fully on her, and his expression was so warm. Emotion flooded her. She had had no idea it would feel like this to see him again. She wanted to embrace him, to weep, to declare herself; but she restrained herself, simply holding out her hand instead.  
Lanius, she said, her voice wobbling slightly, or perhaps that was only in her head.  
He took her hand, but didn’t shake it, instead bowing his head to kiss the back her hand with feeling. She felt his warm lips and soft whiskers. She felt his devotion, matching hers.

* * *

He just kissed her hand, said Cass, watching through binoculars.  
That’s almost romantic, said Arcade, next to her, shading his eyes to peer between the giant letters of the New Vegas sign.

Boone and Veronica were gone, working as armed escorts for a large group of mothers with small children who had evacuated the previous afternoon. Only Cass and Arcade remained, neither really afraid of the Legion. Afraid of what they might do, yes, but not afraid for themselves personally. Arcade knew his medical skills would always be valuable, and he wanted to help the Courier. Cass, ever ballsy, wanted to stick around to see the showdown, and maybe score a little Legion man-meat on the side. Good-lookin’ fellas, she reckoned. And never too drunk to fuck, more than could be said for NCR boys off-duty.

Is it the angle or has she shrunk? Cass asked, looking at the six-foot Courier not even reaching the Legate’s shoulder.  
He’s seven feet tall, remember, replied Arcade.  
Think he’s in proportion?  
There’s usually a correlation. But it’s not definitive.  
It’s gonna be way bigger than average though, right? Cass wiggled her eyebrows.  
Probably. Let’s think about something else, said Arcade, taking a swig of water and fluttering the neck of his t-shirt to cool down. Damn sun, he said. So hot.

* * *

Lanius held the Courier’s hand for a moment longer, then let it go and rested his hand on her shoulder, pressing down hard. 

For a horrifying split-second she thought he was trying to push her to her knees with the intention of making her suck him, in front of literally _everyone_. Then she realised the pressure wasn’t intentional force, it was merely the natural and immense weight of his steel-plated, hugely muscled arm.

The understanding was confirmed when his hand moved up her neck to the back of her head, and he leant in to kiss her mouth, the kiss heartfelt but not lingering. A reuniting kiss between lovers, but, befitting the occasion, not in itself a sexual kiss.

Will you take me in exchange for sparing the lives of the New Vegas citizens? she asked.  
His answer was a long slow smile. Heroic saviour, he said affectionately.  
The Courier shrugged. Heroism came in many forms, and each person did what was allowed them. This option was what was available to her.  
Will you? she asked again. You, Lanius. Not Caesar. This offer is to you, and only you.  
He nodded. Yes. And I am Caesar; and, reaching down, he emptied the red bag out. Caesar’s bloodstained head rolled on the ground at her feet. His sand-crusted and decomposed face was not recognisable anymore, but she knew his exact hairline. It was him.

The Courier suppressed her gasp of shock at the macabre gift, found her hand pressed against her heart and lowered it.  
Rex! she said sharply, as the old dog got up to investigate the interesting smell. Rex resumed his sitting position next to her.

She looked up at the Legate with new eyes. You’re never afraid to make a bold move, she said.  
No, my Courier, he rumbled deeply. And standing before me now proves that neither are you.

* * *

Watching from a hidden position on a rooftop in the city, the spy stared hard at the head on the ground. That was Caesar, he felt sure. The Legate had killed his mentor and usurped control of the Legion. 

Well, it had only been a matter of time. Vulpes had tried to drop the hint several times to Caesar, over the last year, that Lanius was becoming too powerful; but the old man had always waved him away, saying that it was right that the Legate was so popular, and that his prodigy’s destiny was to lead the Legion. He probably hadn’t imagined that his severed head would end up being casually dropped in the dust at the Courier’s feet. 

The Courier. Vulpes snarled and spat in her direction, vindictively imagining the gob of spit hitting the back of her head. He had thought so much of her, but she had been a curse, nothing but pure bad luck, for him, for Caesar, for the Legion. Well, maybe not for the Legion, he had to admit – they seemed to be doing well. But not Vulpes. His tenure in the Legion was now over. He would not work for Lanius. 

I am now a free agent, he said to himself. The words tasted so strange. 

He shifted position, wincing slightly. The elongated, not-yet-healed cuts flogged into his back by Lucius Aelius still hurt.

I am free, he repeated, silently mouthing the words. Strange… but good.

* * *

Lanius said, The men and women in this city will be enslaved, not freed, there can be no negotiation on that point, but I will spare their lives as per your request.  
Not to be raped either, the Courier said firmly.  
Lanius cocked his head slightly. Then he nodded. Very well, he said. To the extent that I can control that.  
The Courier gave a wry smile. I don’t think you lack for control, Lanius Caesar.

Lanius dropped the red bag to cover Caesar’s head. Go back into the city and wait for me there, he said. And tell your people to lay down their arms.  
She shook her head. They’re too afraid to do that.  
Lanius’ only response was a small shrug-like gesture. The Courier knew as well as he did that putting up a struggle would hurt only the citizens. The Legion would feel nothing.

Go, he said. He replaced his helmet, and stood still, watching the Courier and her dog traverse the no man’s land and disappear through the city’s gates.

Then he pressed his massive steep-capped boot down on the skull, crushing it into the ground. He drew the Blade of the East and held it over his head for a few moments, then swung it forward to jab towards the city and bellowed, _IMPES!_  
With an echoing roar, the Legion charged.


	19. 1001 Lanius Nights - Part XVI

There was a tussle inside the gate. A King’s gang member using a pair of binoculars had seen the Legate kiss her out there in no man’s land, and no one was happy about the implications. All kinds of conclusions were being jumped to. Cass and Arcade were there at the gate to help her, but the Courier took a heavy punch to the cheek from a King named Pacer, before the assault was ended by a shout - THEY’RE COMING! And then a frightening roar that seemed to swirl in the air from all directions, and the rumble of nine thousand men’s boots hitting the ground, stampeding towards the city.

Cass and Arcade wrestled the Courier away from the throng, and they ran up the strip to Vault 21 and ran inside, bolting the door behind them.

They ran down the stairs to the diner, hauling closed and bolting each set of heavy doors they passed through. The fry cook was still there, reading a grease-stained copy of the _Boxing Times_. They took a booth and ordered the fry cook to prepare them the most expensive, most luxurious meal he could make in five minutes, and recommended he make one for himself too. 

Vault 21 was underground and exceptionally well insulated. Down in the diner there was no sound of the events outside, for quite some time. 

It wasn’t until they were nearly finished wolfing down deathclaw omelettes and mutfruit juice, that there was a distant thudding sound. Someone was attacking the Vault’s first interior set of steel blast doors with a supersledge.

It’ll take ‘em a while to get through there like that, the fry cook said placidly. He was an older man who had seen enough over the years not to be afraid of anything much these days.

The thudding went on for a while, then was replaced by the high-pitched whine of an energy-cell-powered drill. 

That’s a bit smarter, the fry cook observed.

After 40 minutes a resounding crash indicated that the first door was down. There were five more between the invaders and the diner, not including the two that had been painted open and the Courier hadn’t been able to drag closed. 

The fry cook got a bottle of very good whisky from under the counter and poured himself a full glass, then offered it around. Cass took a glass. Arcade and the Courier took tall glasses of purified water instead. They didn’t know when, if ever, they would get to eat or drink again.

The fry cook dealt a game of cards.

Slowly, the doors failed, and the clashing and shouting drew closer. Cass and the cook grew more and more drunk, and the Courier and Arcade grew more and more sober.

* * *

Rummy, said the Courier, laying the Queen, King and Ace of Clubs down onto the table.  
Another hand? said Cass, gathering up the pack.  
Nah, they’ll be through in a few minutes.

The whine of the drill was almost deafening now, against the last door into the diner. 

The Courier got up and went to the bathroom. Her period, which had been like a bloodbath for the first two days, had lessened considerably on the third and now, the fourth day, was barely there. She washed her hands, looked at herself in the mirror and made a face. She felt like she did the day she’d walked out of Doc Mitchell’s with a freshly sewn-up bullet wound on her head. Once again, her future was so uncertain that all she could do was play her hand and see what happened.

So are you ever going to explain what that was, out there? Cass asked, looking sideways at the Courier when she got back to the table.  
What what was? Though she knew.  
Come on. The Legate Lanius is famous for two things, his outrageous brutality, and never taking off his mask. So how did I see him take off his mask and kiss you like a gentleman?  
Well… he and I… the Courier paused, wondering which was the right tense; ‘were’? ‘are’? … _became_ lovers, she said eventually.  
Cass, Arcade and the Vault 21 fry cook all stared at her.  
Arcade said, Against your will, I assume.  
No. It was my choice entirely. I asked him.  
The staring again.  
So he good in the sack or what? Cass eventually asked. The Courier only smiled a faint half-smile.  
More relevantly, are you going back to him? asked Arcade.

The Courier looked around at her friends and felt an odd mix of emotions. It was hard to pin down how she felt about Lanius. Pride, or shame? It was both, somehow, at war for primacy, an intangible blur of desire and dread the background scenery. Attracted and appalled by him at the same time. Funny, she thought, how the human mind so easily broke natural laws. In a mind, two opposite states could, and often did, co-exist.

Her friends, and the fry cook, were waiting for an answer.   
Probably; I think so, she said.

The last door fell and legionaries burst into the room. The Courier stood up. She and the others showed their hands and surrendered quietly. They were tied with thin ropes, wrists behind their backs, and taken outside to be put in a large group of other captures, some of who looked a bit battered, but not as brutally as would be expected where the Legion was concerned. A few securitrons lay about, neutered by pulse grenades. The Courier glanced up the Strip and saw, relieved, that there were only a few small spatters of blood on the ground here and there. Bloody noses, cut lips. No sticky pools that looked like a life’s worth. 

Which was interesting. The Legion had had battalions circling the whole city. Between her request and his attack only minutes later, Lanius could not have had time to spread the order to take the city as bloodlessly as possible. Therefore, he must have already made the order to his centurions prior to meeting her in no man’s land. And making an effort to minimise bloodshed was very much _not_ his signature style - which implied that he had thought about, accurately guessed and actually taken her wishes into consideration in his planning.

Which was extraordinary.

* * *

The city swarmed with legionaries and the city-wide game of hide-and-seek was drawing to a close, the last hidden citizens being unearthed, tied and herded into the group of captures.

The Courier and Arcade stood close together, and occasionally fended off aggressive questioning from Kings and others as to why the masked man had taken off his mask and bent his head to kiss her.   
You sold out the city! Pacer yelled, to a chorus of Yeah!s.   
Don’t be ridiculous, she replied calmly. This city was lost when Hoover Dam was taken. Did you fight for the Dam? No? Then shut the hell up.   
You probably helped them win at the Dam, Pacer sneered. The Courier just rolled her eyes at that.  
She did not, said Arcade. Does it look like they needed help? Look how many of them there are. He jerked his head at the hordes of machete-wielding men in red crawling all over the city.  
The NCR were protecting the city! She tricked them into leaving!  
Arcade scoffed. Poppycock, he said. Once the Dam fell it was a foregone conclusion that New Vegas would too. The city cannot survive more than a couple of days without water pumped here from the Dam, and the Legion would hardly be likely to let us have any while the NCR were still here, would they? In terms of raw survival, we’re lucky the NCR packed up as quickly as they did.  
Survival? We’re gonna be made into slaves!  
We all had the chance to leave yesterday, Arcade reminded the crowd at large.  
I thought at least I’d die fighting, muttered Pacer. Not just rounded up like cattle.

Nearby, Cass started an argument with a legionary about whether he should untie her or help her with her trousers so that she could pee with at least a little dignity. The dispute was becoming quite loud, and entertaining to the crowd who were glad for a distraction, when a familiar voice spoke to the Courier from behind her shoulder.

So this was your plan all along.  
She turned to face the spy. He wore a lightweight leather armour, with a ripper on one hip, a combat knife on the other, and a hunting rifle slung over his back. Awfully well armed, the Courier noted. No trace of Legion in his armour, either. He was planning to skip town. 

Do you ever start a conversation from the front? she asked. He stared silently at her. There was something subtly different in his face. Something bitter. An aggravation even with his skills he could not completely disguise. 

This wasn’t my plan, she said quietly. If it was, the city would be Legion-free, and we wouldn’t be standing here in ropes.  
Pfh, he spat. He moved closer and spoke into her ear, another of his trademarks. You know exactly what I mean, he murmured in an acidic undertone. My master’s head, rolling on the ground. Your boy-toy usurping the throne.  
Is it usurping when he was next in line anyway? Besides, last time I saw your boss he was having a seizure – you wouldn’t know anything about that would you? It looked almost familiar…  
The spy’s eyes narrowed. He was sick, Courier. Not what you are suggesting.  
Very sick, it looked like. Sooner or later, the Legate would have needed to take the reins. No, none of this was my ‘plan’. I have no ‘plan’. But thank you, it’s nice of you to think so well of me.

Muscles in the spy’s face twitched, working hard to keep himself controlled. He leaned close again.  
I cannot describe, he whispered, how intensely I hate and despise you.   
The Courier put her lips right by the spy’s ear.  
And yet I rather like you, she whispered back.

And there it was, just for a split second, flitting across the spy’s features. A look of… hurt? Regret? Hard to say; but satisfying nonetheless. The spy quickly turned and walked away with a purposeful stride, disappearing into the crowd. The Courier watched him go, a faint smile on her lips. She doubted she - or indeed anyone else who knew him - would see him again.

Cass was brazenly peeing down her leg and kick-flicking hot urine at the legionary who had declined to allow her to do otherwise. The other captures pressed back, trying to get out of Cass’ sprayzone.

* * *

Lanius’s massive chest could hardly contain a heart so swelled. The glory at the Dam was his to bask in. The Legion was his to command, nearly nine thousand men who would lay down their lives for him. The Glittering City, worked towards for years, was his to rule from. And the Courier was here, somewhere, waiting for him to find her. 

The old Caesar had more than once pontificated about the folly of ‘putting a woman on a pedestal’. An inadequately subjugated woman could ‘bring a good man down’, according to the old man. Lanius had listened and nodded agreement at the time, knowing no better. Now, he disagreed. True lovers should put each other on pedestals, he felt. They should admire each other, pay tribute to each other, adore each other. 

It was all so new, the yearning he felt for her. Out of the blue, without trying or expecting it, he had chanced upon a partnership of matched strength. What luck. This was a golden year, indeed.

* * *

They had set up Caesar’s tents on the garden courtyard beside the Ultra Luxe. Lanius had toured the casinos, but couldn’t abide the idea of taking up residence in any of them. They stank of obscene luxury. To sleep in there would make him soft. So he ignored the advice of his praetorian guards who pointed out that he would be more secure indoors, and put his tent up outside, in fresh air and close to his troops, where he felt at ease. 

Lanius sat in the throne of Caesar, festooned with spears and bull’s horns and draped with red silk. He wore his own armour, eschewing the black bear fur and golden pin the old Caesar had worn to mark his status.

Hidden behind his breastplate, then a layer of fine leather and another of linen, were seven rough black lines scored into the deepest layer of his skin. He had not cut any new lines into his chest since the day he had heard the news that she had escaped from Caesar. But every time he thought longingly of her, and wondered where she was, the stained grooves stung again.

The centurions came to him to make their reports. The city had now been successfully cleared, all except the Lucky 38, the doors of which seemed to be made of titanium, and they were having trouble penetrating.

How many captures? Lanius asked the centurion who was in charge of managing them.  
Some three or four hundred, the majority adult males. Most females and children left the city yesterday, it appears.  
Lanius nodded. The captures are to be assimilated immediately. No rape, no killing. You have your orders, he said.   
The centurion bowed his head and left.  
Lanius Caesar; another centurion ventured; Rapes and killings are usually seen as the men’s rightful reward for success in battle.  
Lanius fixed him with a steely eye. I’m well aware of that, he said. The men will not go unrewarded. I intend to declare a _feriæ imperativæ_. The festival will last six days, and the feasting shall begin tonight. Have the animals prepared for sacrifice. How low is the sun?  
I would say it is four hours before sundown, lord Caesar. Enough time to cook brahmin calves for this evening’s feast.   
See to it. Lanius waved away his advisors with a gesture perfectly poised between brusque and gracious.

* * *

A legion woman was sorting the captures. Only about 30 of the group were female. She was perusing the women, and selecting some to come with her. It soon became apparent that she was choosing the more attractive ones.  
‘Comfort women’, said Arcade, frowning.  
‘Joy division’, agreed the Courier, her expression funereal.  
Ohh tidings of comfort and joy! sang drunken Cass. Wait - what are we talking about?  
They should have left, said Arcade. We warned them.  
They might have had all sorts of reasons for not being able to leave; looking after sick parents perhaps, who knows. 

As the Courier spoke, some legionaries started sizing up the selected group, making comments that were obviously lewd even in Latin. The women cowered.  
Hey _schmucks_! the Courier yelled, an audible plume of violence in her voice.  
Here we go, muttered Arcade.  
Her, said the woman, pointing at Cass. A legionary grabbed hold of Cass and tried to drag her away from her friends. This was a mistake, as not unlike the moonshine she drank, Cass had a kick like a mule.

Woah, I think I see the Legate Lanius coming this way! said Arcade. A hugely tall, well-built man in fine armour and a red cloak was approaching purposefully.  
The Courier dragged her attention away from the men she was verbally harrying, and looked. No, that’s Titus Pullo, one of Lanius’ guards.

Titus said something to the legionaries who were herding the captures, and indicated the Courier. She was pulled out from the throng and presented to him.  
Titus, she said, with a polite nod.  
Courier, he replied with a friendly grin.  
He unsheathed an alarmingly sharply-pointed dagger, and turned her around to begin to cut the ropes from her wrists. Over her shoulder she requested that he also free her ‘bodyguards’, Cass and Arcade.  
Titus looked sceptical, and suggested they could come back for them later, if Lanius agreed.  
Let’s take them now, and he can always send them away, the Courier proposed. They’re very useful, one of them’s a doctor, other one’s an alchemist. Well, she thought, distilling moonshine was a form of chemistry.  
Alchemist? Which one?   
Her, said the Courier, pointing at Cass. The diminutive trader was still fighting with the men trying to separate her from the main group.  
Titus stared at Cass from under his brow for a long moment, wincing slightly as he watched Cass kick a man hard in the balls.  
Hah! yelled Cass. The man doubled up, face agonized.  
Woah! reacted the crowd.  
Attagirl, smiled the Courier. Hey Cass! She jerked her head towards Titus, whose look of scepticism was now mixed with grudging admiration. C’mon, we’re up!

* * *

Lanius accepted Cass and Arcade as the Courier’s personal guards, but insisted that they stay outside the throneroom, in company with some of his own praetorian guards. Guarding the tent in which the Courier was, rather than the Courier herself.  
She will be safe here with me, he said. Cass and Arcade exchanged looks as they were led out, but didn’t say anything.

Then the Courier was alone with Lanius and his guards.

He took her to the Ultra Luxe, down into the basement where there was a cavernous room enclosing a deep swimming pool. Titus and Lucius Vorenus accompanied them, standing with their backs to the walls, in the shadows. To protect their liege was paramount in these early days of his reign, and not even the Courier could be allowed to be completely alone with him. 

Lanius stripped naked while the Courier watched. He was injured in various places, particularly a roughened, painful looking area beneath his left arm. It looked like he had been shot with a shotgun, and pellets still hid in his flesh. She saw the scar on his neck where Vulpes had slashed at him, and the thin lines where the lakelurk had dragged its claws down his leg.

But most strangely, he had a new tattoo. His body was liberally decorated with old, faded tattoos, not professionally done, but on one bulging pectoral muscle over his heart he had what looked like a tally, four vertical lines etched in black, crossed by another, then two more alongside.

She came close and ghosted her fingers over the new tattoo. He said nothing, watching her fingers, then looking into her eyes. She leant forward and kissed the warm skin where the tattoo was.  
I will not lose you again, Lanius rumbled.  
You didn’t misplace me, I was stolen, she replied.  
It will never happen again, he reiterated. She looked up into his eyes and nodded, seeing the head of Caesar rolling in the dust at her feet again. He hadn’t killed Caesar for her, she knew that. That would have been for himself. But he had brought her the head to see, to witness her enemy’s demise, and know that it had been done – that was for her.   
I know that, she said.

The soft black fur on Lanius’ chest narrowed down to a vertical line that led between his abdominal muscles, past his navel, to join with the thick black hair at his groin. She slowly kissed her way down the line, crouching when she got level with his heavy phallus, and kissing her way to the end of it. By the time she reached its head it was erect. She stroked the underside of the head with her bottom lip, and looked up at him. Lanius caressed her hair with one hand, watching her. She licked her tongue around his glans, and heard him sigh. With one hand she took his heavy testes and gently massaged them, her other hand moved around to his behind, to caress his muscular buttocks.

Lanius sighed again, slowly exhaling, a sound of deep pleasure, of both relief and anticipation.

She licked her lips and took him into her mouth, as much of him as she could handle, trying not to graze him too much with her teeth. He let her set the pace, keeping his hand on her head gentle and not pushing, though it was plain from his sighs when she took him more deeply, that he badly wanted to.

To her surprise he withdrew from her mouth after a minute, and crouched down to meet her mouth with his own, kissing softly at first, then more deeply. As he kissed her he began to unzip her recon suit and slip it off her shoulders.

Holding her hand, he led her into the water. It grew progressively deeper. When he was shoulderblade deep, she had to tip-toe to keep her mouth above water. When the water lapped the tops of his shoulders she was swimming. Lanius scooped her up and cradled her in one arm. She held onto his shoulder. 

Slowly, he turned in a circle, coursing her through the water. With his free hand he caressed all over her body – he was washing her, she soon realised. Washing away the dust and damage she had accumulated since he’d seen her last, leaving her fresh and new. She was being born again. He gently wiped his wet hand over her face, and rubbed across her mouth with his massive thumb.  
Hold your breath, he said softly. He dipped her backwards and let the cool water close over her face then lifted her out again. Water streamed from her face and hair. She blinked her eyes open, just as he leaned in for a kiss.

She smelt his skin and hair, and he smelt so right. She met his lips and kissed him back with equal fervour, closing her eyes again. The room was dimly lit and with her eyes sealed there was only blackness and sensation. Lanius swayed in the water. The feel of it running around her skin, accenting the heat of the parts of her skin that were touching him, was beautiful. His long, wavy black hair drifted against her cheek. 

Without warning Lanius launched himself backwards and under the water, swimming down deep and pulling her with him. He kept swimming, five feet under the surface, down towards the deepest end of the pool. He held her tightly and for a few moments she couldn’t ignore the horrible possibility that he was trying to drown her. She was on the verge of fighting back when he came up at the far end, bringing her head out of the water with his, shaking the water from his head and laughing.

She wiped the water from her eyes and studied him carefully. Was this cackling laughter enjoyment of how much he must have alarmed her? If so - if the thought that frightening her or risking her life was sport - well, that was grounds for divorce, right there. 

But it wasn’t. There was no cruelty in his eyes. He was laughing from pure happiness.   
Let me take a breath first before you do that again, lord Lanius, she panted, her tone mildly chastising.  
He looked at her. Take a breath now, then.   
He waited for her to fill her lungs and give him a short nod, then dived down again, pulling her through the water. It was fun, this time. 

When they came up she splashed at him, and waited for him to get his revenge, but he had another idea. He climbed out of the pool, then leapt in the air, to land in a few feet away from her, holding his knees in a barrel shape. The splash was ridiculously large, sending water eight feet in the air and a tidal wave flowing over the sides of the pool. Spluttering, the Courier made her way to the edge to try the same thing against him. 

Lanius was laughing as he looked up at her, threatening him from the side of the pool. The Courier gazed down at him and thought he had never looked so handsome, his eyes twinkling with delight and his cheeks grooved around his wide grin. Then she went over to the wall of the room, where there were old wooden benches for sitting on, and dragged one to the side of the pool, for extra height.

She took a run up, then did a flip, using the bench as a spring board for her hands, spun in the air and came down in the centre of the pool, sticking one leg out to maximise her splash. 

It was good, but no where near as massive as Lanius’ splash had been. Quite a lot of water flew in the air, but only a little flowed over the edges of the pool.  
Your acrobatic style is impressive, without doubt, but I have the superior displacement, Lanius laughed.

He swam over to her and took her in his arms again, this time for a hug, wrapping his arms around her. She hugged him back and felt tension in his body. She secured her arms and legs around him, spread her fingers for maximum contact, and squeezed him tightly. As she did, she felt him relax, the tension dissipating in her embrace. 

You’ve had a hard week, she whispered.  
Everything is good now, he whispered back. I see my path.  
We will walk it together.  
She felt him smile. He kissed her softly, behind her ear. We will, he agreed.


End file.
